


Lemon Boys

by Autumn_Ignited, SailUncharted



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Closeted Keith, Cute Dogs, Disordered Eating, Dyslexic Lance (Voltron), Food shaming, Gay Lance (Voltron), Homophobia, Lady and The Tramp AU, Lance (Voltron) Has ADHD, M/M, Prep School, Trans Keith (Voltron), Transphobia, just wrong side of the tracks boy meets rich boy, pre-Coming Out, strict gender roles, they're not dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 57,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Ignited/pseuds/Autumn_Ignited, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailUncharted/pseuds/SailUncharted
Summary: Keith has a lot going on between his duties as class president, way too much homework, and being groomed to take over his mother's corporation. He’s gotten very used to pushing things down and ignoring them in favor of doing what is expected of him, so it’s easy to shove that whole ‘gender’ thing he’s been dealing with lately to the very far corners of his mind. He doesn’t have time to think about it anyway, and he DEFINITELY doesn't have time for the loud, pushy, overfamiliar showboat of a new kid who just crashed into his school and his life. No matter how attractive he is.Lance is lucky; not many kids from his neighborhood get the chance to attend the prestigious Merriweather Academy - and by ‘many’ he means ‘zero.’ Winning the lottery for a scholarship was a combination of his own hard work and sheer luck. He knows it’s going to be a culture clash, but it’s just for a year, right? If it means getting into a better university, he can suffer through anything.Until he starts falling for the prickly class president, and has to question everything about who he is, and what this might mean for his future.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 210
Kudos: 1074
Collections: Fanfics that Would be Best-Sellers if They Were Published Books, Fics that Take Me Weeks Of Dedication to Read and Affect My Literal Life, Soft Fluffy Klance





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Welcome to Lemon Boys, a fic created completely by trans and nonbinary people! All official art for this fic is also drawn by trans artists so thank you for supporting something completely trans-created!
> 
> Art by [eekzley](https://twitter.com/eekzley)
> 
> Check us both out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

-🍋-

In the club’s defense,  _ he  _ was the asshole.

Not because he wanted to be, of course; Keith was just having a particularly bad day and the student council was on the unfortunate receiving end of his wrath. 

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.” Camille smacked gum around the words. “The boxes were in this room when we left and now they’re not.”

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to take a breath.“I  _ see  _ that. And does anyone want to explain  _ why  _ the boxes are no longer here? Or perhaps  _ do something  _ about it besides pointing out the obvious?” 

Melanie raised her hand.

“ _ What,  _ Melanie? Are you going to use your big girl words and just speak, or are we in kindergarten and I have to call on you?”

Keith didn’t miss the warning glare Camille sent her, or the way Melanie’s eyes shifted between Camille and Matthew before settling in her lap. 

“I, um.” She toyed with the hem of her skirt, avoiding eye contact with everyone. As usual. “I saw Matthew in here last, and he’s the one with the keys.” 

It took every ounce of willpower not to growl his next words. “Okay. And does  _ Matthew _ -” Keith turned to the boy in question, “want to respond to that?”

“Oh, that’s funny,” Camille interjected before Matthew could answer. “Because I’m pretty sure  _ you  _ were on the schedule for double-checks,  _ Melanie,  _ so how about we stop blaming my boyfriend and start-”

“I wasn’t! I wouldn’t! I mean, I  _ did  _ check, but then-” Melanie shifted in her chair, this time staring at Camille in horror.

“E _ nough _ !” Keith shouted. It startled them all and even himself a little. “Take all your stupid drama outside, and while you’re out there,  _ find my damn boxes! _ ”

Everyone except Camille and Matthew had the decency to look ashamed. 

“ _ NOW! _ ” 

They filed out one by one, except the aforementioned couple who linked arms. Keith could hear Matthew whispering, “She’s got a lot of nerve. I checked them myself. I bet she ate them or some shit.”

That was the final straw. Keith stomped out of the council room and stormed into the courtyard for a breather.

For September, the weather was still uncomfortably warm. Sweat prickled under his collar where the tie held it tight to his neck and dampened the tops of his knee-high socks. It didn’t do much to cool his temper, but at least there was enough of a breeze to rustle the trees and the pleats of his skirt. 

The truth was that something mundane had probably happened to his boxes, like the janitor putting them in a closet thinking they were storage, but it was the last in a series of minor inconveniences that had coagulated to make his day super shitty. And it was only ten o’clock. Who knew how many other fires he’d have to put out before the day ended, and on top of that, he was starving. That always made him extra grumpy, but with his mom coming home soon, it was salads every day. 

So - hot, hungry, and hugely irritated, Keith found a rock. “Fuck you,” he told it before giving it a sullen kick and watching it skitter into the primly kept bushes. It didn’t make him feel better. 

Oh - and that was another thing. He only had another half hour to sulk and kick rocks before he’d have to give up his study hall to show around that new kid, the one who’d won the scholarship to -

He didn’t get to finish that thought, because he was busy being knocked flat on his ass. 

Keith yelped and hit the sidewalk  _ hard _ . Luckily, his head missed the pavement by an inch and was, instead, pillowed by landscaping mulch. That was about where the comfort ended because he wasn’t just sprawled on his back on the concrete - he was  _ pinned _ . 

...And his pinner was…

...Fucking  _ gorgeous _ , what the hell? The boy above him was all curly, brown hair that fell into wide eyes, one brown and one bright blue. 

When the shock of impact wore off, Keith became acutely aware of the arm next to his cheek, followed by the hot hand on his shoulder, and finally the leg between his thighs. 

“I’m so sorry.” The boy took way too long to figure out how to stand if anyone asked Keith. Backlit by the sun shining a golden halo through his curls, he held out a hand with a crooked smile that could go right to hell. “Here. Let me help you up.”

“The least you can do,” Keith muttered under his breath but took the hand. Ignoring his assailant, Keith brushed his skirt of dust and foliage. Unfortunately, it was undamaged; he had no reason to burn it...yet. 

Satisfied that his appearance didn’t belie his intimacy with the ground, Keith crossed his arms and put on his best  _ Madame President  _ face. It was one step past resting bitch face, designed to make his peers squirm. He dragged his eyes up and down the boy who was still smiling that ruthlessly charming smile despite how awkward the whole situation was. 

Now that they were both standing, Keith realized he had to look up by a nontrivial amount. He wasn’t used to that; he was one of the tallest in his class (all twenty four of them, but still). It put him on edge almost as much as those mismatched eyes and the carefree crinkles at their corners. No longer backlit, Keith could see that the boy’s entire face was a constellation of freckles, but they were darker and more prominent across his nose and cheekbones. 

He looked like he was practically made of sunshine, and standing next to him made Keith feel like the guilty, pale moon in a solar eclipse.

He had to inwardly shake himself to get his head out of the cosmos and back down to earth. He took a step back to gauge the less attractive and more mundane aspects of the boy: Brand new uniform with the pants just a little too short, tie crooked and poorly knotted, class schedule in hand...

“Mr. Fuentes?” Keith hazarded a guess, slipping into the pleasant neutrality that was reserved for ‘school.’

“Oh, yeah, that’s me,” Lance Fuentes, charity student, said. “How did you know?” That smile again, and worse, the motherfucker had  _ dimples.  _

_ Ugh.  _

Keith held out his hand for a more formal introduction. “Well, I believe I’m the one you might be looking for. I’m to show you around this afternoon.” 

“Yeah? Oh! Yeah, then you must be Kira. The office lady told me you were going to show me around. It’s nice to meet you.” Lance slapped his hand. 

And like... _ what  _ was that, even? Keith looked down at his empty palm. 

“Um. Yes. Kira Astor Jean-Baptiste DiLoria Merriweather. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

Lance blinked at him and laughed. “Dude, what? I mean my cousin is named Mia Rosa García Fuentes de Arroyo, you could have a contest.”

Keith returned his blink. Was Lance...making fun of him? Was that a joke? It was hard to tell. 

For the first time, Lance’s smile wavered. “So, do I call you all that? Kira All-star John Paul Jones the fifth? Because I don’t think I can remember it. It took me like, a year to memorize Mia’s full name.”

Keith gave him a flat look. “Kira is fine.”

Lance slapped him on the back with a chuckle. “I was just teasing you. Kira it is.”

“Right,” he settled on after he’d regained his footing. “Well, you’re a little early, but we might as well get started.” 

“As far as I was told, I’m yours for the day. Lead the way, princess.”

Keith rounded on him and glared. “I’ll thank you to  _ never  _ call me that again.”

“Woah,” Lance said, shielding himself with his hands. “You can ask nicely. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I  _ did _ ask nicely,” Keith said haughtily. “I even said ‘thank you.’ Now keep up. This building is the Upper School, so it’s where you’ll spend most of your time.”

“What the hell is an upper school? It’s not even on the second floor.” 

_ Fantastic _ . Tall, dark, and freckled was either a moron or thought he was funny. Keith didn’t know which was worse. 

“The high school,” he said, and congratulated himself on how patient it sounded. “Grades 9 through 12, which, I assume, they went over in orientation.” He held the door open for Lance to pass through. 

“Thanks pri-er-Kira banira banana fanna fo fira.” Lance shot him finger guns as he passed through the doorway. 

Keith rolled his eyes. 

Unlike a normal person, Lance spun to walk backward. “Won’t lie; I’m not sure what they went over. My brain was fried after the first hour. I was so nervous this morning I skipped breakfast, and you know what they say about breakfast.” 

“No?” Keith ran through any colloquialisms he might have picked up about breakfast, but came up empty. “This is actually the back entrance. We can double back to the grand staircase so that I can orient you.” 

“It’s the most important.”

“The staircase?” Keith pulled a face. “I...suppose. It is the centermost one.”

“No.” Lance’s laugh rang in the empty hallway, entirely too loud. “Breakfast. Most important meal of the day; that’s what they say. I don’t know anything about if the staircase is important or not.”

Despite himself, Keith felt the corner of his mouth turn up. “Oh, it is. It’s on all the brochures. Very nice, as staircases go.”

“Haven’t met many I disliked,” Lance said, elbowing him as if they were both in on the joke.

Keith rubbed his side, staring at the boy and feeling more like a tour guide to someone from another planet than another high school. “Right. This way.” 

As he turned away Keith could’ve sworn that he saw Lance’s face fall, but when he glanced back to check, that shit-eating grin was still plastered on his face.

He led them through a series of hallways with alcoves every few feet, each decorated with an elaborate vase. The whole time they walked, Keith gave the perfunctory speech he always gave about the rules for transitioning between classes, the hours for the Senior espresso bar, where the washrooms were - all the things students actually cared about. He skipped over the history of the vases and the artwork on the walls, how the Atrium was designed by legendary architect E. W. Stokes, and how the chandeliers were all Austrian crystal. He got the feeling Lance...well, wasn’t exactly the type to be discerning about where his crystal came from. 

Beyond the main hallway was the grand staircase, a red-carpeted focal point lit by the largest of the chandeliers. It wasn’t nearly as enormous as the one at home, but still bigger and gaudier than Keith thought was strictly necessary. 

“Here it is,” he offered. “The pivotal staircase.” 

“Woah.” Lance’s face was pointed up when he backed into Keith. “Sorry.”

“Step one,” Keith said archly, taking a step to the side. “Might be reviewing how to walk without bowling people over  _ before _ I show you to the Chemistry lab.”

“Very funny. You always this full of jokes, Kira?” 

Keith smiled blandly. “A day one service only, I’m afraid.” He led them from the right side of the stairs down to the main platform, then cut over to the left. 

“This is the Science Wing. If you get turned around, every hallway has a gold plaque under the first two sconces that will tell you where you are. This first classroom is for Biology lecture because the labs are all-“

For the second time in less than an hour, Keith was interrupted by sudden and unwelcome bodily injury, this time in the form of a door to the face. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t - oh! Madame President!” Melanie squeaked. “Good, I was just looking for you. We found the boxes, but half of the stuff is broken and - oh.”

Lance lowered his hands but his mouth was still wide open in shock.

Keith rubbed his nose, though what he really wanted to rub was his aching temples. 

“Melanie, this is our new student, Mister Lance Fuentes. Lance, this is Student Council Secretary Melanie Von Glauer.” 

Melanie smiled sheepishly up at Lance and gave a shy, twiddling wave with just her fingers. 

Slightly perplexed, he waved back. “Nice to meet you, Mel. Remind me not to stand behind doors while you’re around though.” The stiff corners of Lance’s mouth melted into an easy smile and he winked.

Keith had known Melanie since they were about 12, and he sure had never heard her  _ giggle _ before. That was...that was a whole new level of weird he didn’t have time for, so Keith just glanced down at his watch and sighed. 

“I’m showing Lance around right now. Just tell Camille to leave them be and-“

Melanie shook her head, sending her stout twin braids flapping. “Camille and Tom are fighting over who broke what and Matt was getting mad at Tom for ‘insulting his woman’ and I just  _ really  _ think you should come now, Madame President, please.”

For fuck’s sake. Keith could have worked in a cutlery factory and he’d still be out of spoons to deal with that level of bullshit. 

He glanced at Lance. “Do you mind if we make a quick detour to the Student Council office? Apparently, my presence is required.”

Lance shrugged with just the tip of his shoulder as if the rest of him was too lazy to take part in the action. “I guess I should know where that is too if we’re going to be buddies.”

_ Buddies? _

Keith blinked, processing that. 

Again, he wondered if Lance was teasing, or being mean or underhanded. No one just A: informed people they were going to become familiar or B: used the word “buddy” to do it. From the look on Melanie’s face, it was equally astounding that someone would “be buddies” with Kira Merriweather.

“Um,” Keith stammered, then cleared his throat and straightened up. “Great. Back up the staircase and to the left.” 

“Sweet. I love cardio.” 

Well, that was one way of looking at it. 

Lance could probably have figured out which door belonged to the Student Council even if Keith hadn’t pointed it out. The arguing from within left little mystery, especially when it consisted of things like, “That’s your own fault, dumbass!” and “Do  _ you  _ want to explain that to Kira fucking Merriweather?!”

Honestly, that last part kind of made him smirk. 

Keith didn’t bother to knock, and the resounding silence that accompanied his entrance was gratifying. Everyone jumped to attention and looked and/or glared everywhere but at him. 

“I see you found the boxes.” Keith gestured towards them, opting not to look inside lest his mood sour past the point of no return. “And I found our new transfer student. Everyone, this is Lance Fuentes. Lance, this is Vice President Camille Montgomery, Treasurer Thomas Elliott-Ford and Historian Matthew Richardson III.”

“Hey.” Lance waved.

“Nice to meet you, Lance,” Tom offered, right as Camille said, “Great. Hi. So half of the stuff is broken and we’re going to need to reorder basically everything, and there’s no way it will be here in time for the carnival.”

Keith took a deep breath. It didn’t matter how this got fixed, it was going to get fixed  _ without _ his mother knowing. If word got back to her that the carnival wasn’t a complete success and that the donation money had gone to waste, he wouldn’t see the outside world for months.

He could hear Melanie behind him helpfully whispering to Lance about the Fall Carnival: how it was an annual event where Merriweather kids paid for entrance but was free for the kids in local homeless shelters, how they always had a special giveaway item, how she’d personally booked the pony, etc. Basically everything except how they were going to address the loss of supplies to run said carnival.

“Tom, tell me you already made an itemized list of everything that needs replaced.”

“And things we might be able to salvage.” Tom held up his notebook. He might be the Treasurer, but it seemed like he spent half his time doing everybody else’s jobs for them as well, for which Keith was grateful. 

Keith took it and scanned over the list. “Great.” He glanced at the boxes. Mostly what he could see was broken glass and puddles of what looked like ink or Koolaid, and that was definitely a soggy stack of flyers. If they did without the water bottles…

“Well, the kids can eat with their hands and if we can’t get them new water bottles, we’ll…” Keith squeezed his eyes shut. God, his head ached. “Camille, make some calls and see what we can get the logo printed on before Sunday.”

“Yes, Madame President.”

“Um,” Melanie piped up. “Not to, like, add any extra stress-” 

“That’s the kind of thing people say before they add a bunch of extra stress,” Tom muttered beside him.

“ -but we still haven’t picked a charity for the proceeds to go to.”

“Obviously we’re picking the Merriweather Foundation.” Camile rolled her eyes as if Melanie was the dumbest person alive. And if Keith was being honest, that  _ was _ the organization the fall carnival’s funds had gone to since, well, ever. “We have more important-”

“I mean, if you really want something different, why not the Rainbow Org?” Lance stepped up, taking center stage. “They help queer kids get the support they need. Their focus is on homeless kids, even. I worked with them in my old school. They’re pretty cool.”

Keith blinked. He had honestly forgotten Lance was even there, and he certainly hadn’t been expecting him to pipe up. Definitely not about something so...so…

Something about the easy way he spoke, the cavalier attitude of it all, made Keith want to blurt out,  _ ‘Yes - that’s a great idea.’ _

In fact, he’d opened his mouth to do so, or at least to commend Lance on the nobility of it, when Matt cut him off with a derisive snort.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s see what the board has to say when we tell them we’re funneling all their money into making gay kids gayer. I guess we could if we wanted to make sure the club was totally defunded.” 

“What?” Lance looked honestly shocked. For a second Keith thought he was going to turn tail and run. “Trust me when I say gay kids don’t need your help to be gayer, they’re keeping it queer just fine without you.”

Oh. Apparently, he was capable of holding his own. Keith bit his lip to stop himself from smiling.

Matt shrugged. “I’m just saying, man. That’s a surefire way to get our club completely canceled.”

“They wouldn’t want the school logo on anything that was helping an amoral cause,” Camille chimed in, proud and prim. “Merriweather Academy has a reputation to uphold.”

Keith couldn’t see Lance’s face, but his whole body tensed. “A reputation of assholes,” Lance muttered, quiet enough that only he and Melanie could hear. Despite being outnumbered, the new kid was using his height to glare down at the entire student council.

Keith was so used to just...glossing over the unpleasant necessity of keeping up the status quo. He’d spent his whole life abiding by the reality of ‘That’s how things are done.’ 

So it took him by genuine surprise to see Lance so upset. Like - he  _ knew  _ Lance was right, and he  _ knew  _ that whatever he was championing was probably a much better cause than fueling money right back into a school that was drowning in money - but it just registered differently with Lance standing right there. Seeing his narrow-eyed gaze made Keith feel...a little ashamed, honestly. 

Which was bullshit. He’d known this guy, what, fifteen minutes? Tops? 

He started to say...something, he didn’t really know what, but Camille and her big mouth beat him to it. 

“ _ Anyway, _ ” she drawled, twisting her hair up into a high ponytail as she spoke. She couldn’t have looked more indifferent if she tried. “I don’t know why you bothered to ask, Melanie. You know this entire carnival is for making sure that we have important stuff for prom, like actual linen tablecloths and real silverware and not that gross plasticky stuff they had at Homecoming last year. And a halfway decent DJ. That last guy was terrible. Remember he just played a bunch of, like, weird trance music on loop-”

Keith hadn’t realized that he’d gotten lost in his own thoughts until the door slammed behind him. 

“Yeesh.” Camille popped her gum and let her hair fall perfectly around her shoulders. “That’s what we get for letting in randos.”

Keith sent her a look that froze the entire room. Good. 

He made sure his voice was particularly arctic when he spat, “There will be space to accept another  _ rando student _ if you don’t do the job you were elected to do. I’m certain there are plenty of more competent people ready to take your place.”

The shock on her face was worth every icicle. 

He didn’t know why he felt compelled to follow Lance. Logically, he ought to stay and handle the crisis he’d been summoned to fix, but something about that whole exchange didn’t sit right with him. It wasn’t just because of how Keith, personally, felt about Lance’s... _ topic _ ...but also how wrong it felt on some weird, internal level to see those freckles turned down in anger.

It took him nearly forty minutes to find Lance again. His teachers were expecting him to be absent in order to show Lance around, but he felt a little guilty skulking around campus without any tall, dark, and talkative charity students in tow. 

He finally found said hall pass sitting on the Lower School swing set, chucking pieces of mulch into the marble fountain of splashing ducks.

“You know,” Keith called to announce his presence. “If you were going to take your mood out on some of the landscaping, I would have suggested the ugly bronze statue playing soccer in the Middle School garden. These ducks didn’t do anything to you.”

"I'm not aiming for the ducks. I'm aiming for that asshole's face." Lance threw another wad of mulch, missing the fat cherub he’d targeted and pelting a frazzled mallard instead.

“That one I’ll give you. Go right ahead.” 

The wooden beam Keith leaned against swayed slightly with Lance’s movement. For three whole plops of mulch, they didn’t speak. 

“Why are you still here, Veronica?” Lance asked without missing a beat of his mulch-tossing.

Clucking his tongue, Keith crossed his arms and glared at Lance’s profile. “I’m your guide. I made the mistake of wondering where you went and wanting to make sure you didn’t get - wait. What did you call me?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” The muscle in Lance’s jaw twitched and one brown eye glared at him. “Actually, after that, you’re better off forgetting I exist.”

“Wow,” Keith deadpanned. “It was a little awkward as introductory meetings go, but I don’t think it warrants going from zero to Shakespearean Tragedy.”

“I think I get to decide how dramatic I want to be after your little entourage took the piss out of me.”

Keith sighed. “Listen...for what it’s worth...I thought your charity idea was pretty noble. It’s just that Matt is right. You can’t just say stuff like that and expect it to be acceptable. The board would crack down on us immediately.”

“You know…” Lance’s words were quiet but there was an undercurrent of warning. “It’s really laughable how surface level your whole fair is. My charity idea isn’t just good, it's practically a necessity since 40% of homeless kids are LGBT.” 

“Be that as it may,” Keith said carefully, bristling and tense. “There are any number of charities that could benefit, all of them worthwhile, but no matter what you or I or the entire student body may think, the decision  _ lies with the board _ . It’s best to just let them have their way. And I’ll tell you right now - ‘change’ isn’t big in their vocabulary.”

“It’s in mine,” Lance grumbled and kicked a wad of mulch. “If it's not in theirs, that just means everyone’s too lazy to care.”

Red crept into the corners of his vision as Keith sneered down at him. “And just where do you get off deciding the morality of everyone on campus after a whole three hours here? Whether you approve of it or not, our club does a lot of good.”

Lance stood, sending the swing jangling behind him. “Good? What does a few monogrammed water bottles do for those kids anyway? By the next day, they’ll be back to hiding food behind their beds and wishing someone was there to hug them. The only  _ good _ you’re doing is making yourself feel like the bare minimum was some kind of grand gesture.”

“Oh?” Keith’s voice had plummeted to sub-zero, and he could feel his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. “Then I feel I should remind you that if we didn’t accept the bare minimum,  _ you  _ wouldn’t be here.”

Keith could practically hear the silent profanity being hurled at him; It was written all over Lance’s face as he stared him down. “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you. It's not like you’ve ever had a hard day in your life outside chipping a nail.”

“How dare you,” Keith snapped. It took everything he had to grab hold of the fabric of his skirt to keep from punching Lance right in his freckled face. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

"You're right, I couldn't possibly understand the difficulties in your privileged life.” Snatching his bag, Lance slung it over his shoulder so hard that it flipped right back off to land in his elbow. “I relieve you of your duties,  _ princess _ ." Lance bowed.

Keith was left seething, unable to form a coherent comeback through his own righteous indignation. 

This time when Lance knocked him with his shoulder as he passed, Keith knew damn well it was on purpose. 

-🍋-

Given that Keith’s job for the day had been to babysit Lance, and that he’d honestly prefer a root canal to going to find his erstwhile charge after he’d stormed off  _ yet fucking again _ , he opted to return to the Student Council room to see what had become of the broken box debacle. 

The only person still there was Tom, meticulously removing and taking stock of things one by one. In other words, doing his fucking job. 

Keith could have kissed him.

Not...not really. But the sentiment was there. 

“Thank you for being the only person today to do what they were elected to do,” Keith said, exhaustion thick in his voice as he slid into a seat across from Tom and rubbed at his left temple. 

“I just do what I’m supposed to. We both know there’s only two people here that were blessed with brain cells. You and Melanie.” Tom chuckled as he took another dripping stack of fliers out to dry.

Keith snorted and let his forehead fall to the table. It was cool and welcome on his skin. “I lost the new student, and who knows what Camille is doing with those orders. The kids will probably wind up with monogrammed handbags. Any chance you’d like to swap jobs?”

“Nope. I told you, you’re the brains. I just do what I’m told and count things. All those years of advanced math need to be put to good use as Treasurer.” He wiped his hands off on a towel and leaned against the table. “You look like you need a whole spa team to get rid of that headache.”

“I’d probably have to micromanage them, too,” Keith grumbled, but he raised his head back up with a frustrated sigh. “Mostly I’m annoyed that the new kid had a decent point about prom, but then had the nerve to act all self-righteous when we didn’t immediately agree to challenge the entire Board of Supervisors.”

Tom ran a hand through his perfect blond hair. It slipped through his fingers, only to fall perfectly around his face as if it’d been styled for hours. “Don’t let him get to you, Kira. Even if he has a point, there’s nothing either of us can do about it. You know that. I know that. He just doesn’t get it.”

With a sigh, Keith held out a hand. “Pass me a stack. Let’s clean up Camille’s mistake.”

As they worked, Keith was able to zone out into the blissful nothing that came with performing a menial task. It was his default state, that place of internal zen, where he could retreat into a general ether of blankness that got him through most of his life. There was comfort in that. Familiarity. Working with Tom in easy silence was nice. It was  _ normal.  _

What wasn’t normal was the way he’d hear Lance’s voice in his head, intruding almost as soon as Keith had pushed it away again. Every time his thumb swiped over the Merriweather logo, or he peeled apart another flier that advertised “all funds to be used for a good cause!” he could hear that sharp, biting retort -  _ if change isn’t in their vocabulary, that just means everyone’s too lazy to care.  _

_ Too lazy to care.  _

It made Keith’s insides squirm.

Tom was right, though. Lance just didn’t understand the way things worked, and he was going to have a hell of a time adjusting to it if his first day was any indication. 

Once the last leaflet was placed on the table, Keith stretched. His whole back cracked up his spine and he let out a small  _ oof. _

Tom winced. “That...did not sound good. Why don’t I just give you a quick massage? Then you don’t have to micromanage anyone.”

Immediately, Keith went stiff, his smile as wooden as his spine. “Appreciated, but I should-” 

Fuck, should go  _ what,  _ it wasn’t time for classes to change, all his work was sitting right in front of them, how could he- 

“Find the new guy?” Tom offered.

Oh.

Well, as needs must, or whatever the hell it was.

“Yeah. I should go find Lance. Don’t want him wandering off into traffic or something on his first day.”

Tom chuckled. “Then we better save it. After interacting with that guy, you’ll just get all tense again.”

Keith gave his ‘polite laugh’ and pushed away from the table. “Right. I’ll check in later and see what the damage is. Thanks, Tom.”

Tom waved with a tired smile. “You owe me for ditching out on this; better make it up to me at the next gala.”

“Will do.”

He managed not to slam the door behind him as he left, but as he picked an arbitrary direction and started walking, Keith couldn’t help but increase his pace. If nothing else, he at least felt better for putting space between himself and...whatever the hell  _ that  _ had been. 

-🍋-

As he usually did when he had nowhere else in particular to be, Keith found himself headed for the Atrium.

One of Merriweather’s crowning architectural features, the Atrium looked over the Green toward the small private road that led to the school’s elaborate front gate. Beyond that, the whole view was overtaken by miles of emerald-deep forest. 

For as long as he could remember, it had always been his favorite place at Merriweather Academy. Well, second favorite, next to the theater. 

Not that he got to spend much time there, thanks to his mom. 

Anyway. 

What made it so great was the vaulted glass ceiling that curved uninterrupted down to the floor, creating an entire wall of sparkling glass. Every few feet or so were tall, leafy plants that dappled the light and gave the impression of walking through a garden. Even on cloudy days it was bright - bright, and the only place he could really breathe. No matter where you entered it, moving from the enclosed walls of the hallways into the Atrium always felt like a wash of fresh air.

A continuous trickle of soft classical music changed his hurried pace into an easy stroll as he passed through the threshold. The noise of the whole Upper School chatting through their lunch hour resolved into a muted hum that accompanied the pleasant lilt of Boccherini. It made for a nice moment of clarity in his all-around trash fire of a day.

Keith wove between the round tables, the white marble of them gleaming under the unfettered sun, heading towards the far corner. His favorite table was there, hidden almost entirely by some kind of tall, tropical plant with fragrant blossoms. It was usually vacant, either because no one noticed it or because they didn’t want to sit so close to the administrative hallway. Given that Keith could probably release an army of scorpions into the school and be thanked for it, he was always willing to take his chances. 

Keith tucked his bag close as he dodged students and chairs, absently responding to the murmured “Hello, Madame Presidents” his classmates were encouraged to say. From his vantage point, it looked like his table was, as usual, unoccupied.  _ Thank fuck.  _ All Keith wanted in the world was just  _ five goddamn minutes  _ to himself to - 

A curly brown head of hair was tucked into lean arms and napping on his favorite table.  _ Lance. _ Ugh. Well he  _ had _ told Tom he was going to find his charge, he just hadn’t meant it.

Still - for whatever he’d done to bank some seriously bad karma for today? He was really very sorry. 

He nudged Lance’s chair leg with his foot, enough to scrape it along the floor by an inch or so. “It’s nice to see that our scholarship money is really being put to solid use on you.”

The head lifted just enough for earth and ice to glare up at him over folded arms. “Don’t kick my chair.”

“Too late.” Keith kicked it again for good measure. 

Lance grumbled and picked up his chair, jumping it and himself away with a clatter. “Dude, I’m trying to sleep. What did you want?”

What did he want? Peace and quiet. To go home. To change clothes and play hours of Overwatch and not have to talk to other people again until...well, that part to be determined. 

Keith shrugged and sat in the chair opposite him, as cool and unbothered as he could appear. Now that he was here, he certainly wasn’t going to give Lance the satisfaction of driving him away from his own favorite table just by being present. He dug around in his satchel for the little container where Celia stored whatever rabbit food his mother had assigned her to make for him that day. 

“I want to eat lunch. You just happen to be at my table, so now we have the pleasure of each other’s company for the second time today, but…” He pulled his lunch container out and gave Lance his most pleasant smile. “ _ If you do desire, _ ” he half-quoted, “ _ we may be better strangers.  _ You’re welcome to go make friends elsewhere.”

“ _ There’s small choice in rotten apples _ ,” Lance sneered and stood, scraping his chair.

Keith froze, so genuinely shocked that he dropped his lunch on the table. Had...had Lance just...met his Shakespearean insult with... _ more Shakespeare? _

He couldn’t help it; he laughed. Not a pretty, delicate laugh either, but a surprised snort that bubbled over into choked giggles.

Lance stared down at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Did you,” Keith tried through his laughter. “Did you actually just  _ Taming of the Shrew _ me? Like, that genuinely just happened?”

Crossing his arms, Lance eyed him suspiciously. “I played Hortensio last year. What of it?”

Keith could feel himself grinning, dorky and totally lacking any of his usual decorum. “That was amazing. I’ve never been so happy to be insulted.”

There was a beat of bewilderment before Lance’s face cracked into the smallest smile. “It  _ was _ kinda cool if I think about it,” he conceded. 

“Don’t think too hard,” Keith giggled. “ _ Your brain is already as dry as the remainder biscuit after voyage _ .”

Lance’s arms uncrossed and moved to his hips as his smile grew crookedly across his face. “I’d punch you but it  _ would infect my hands _ . Or something like that; I’m reading  _ Timon of Athens _ right now.”

Keith waved him off. “Can’t have that. Guess we’ll have to pencil in the punching for another time. Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I would but I wouldn’t want to ruin our chances of becoming better strangers.” Lance nodded and hefted his bag over his shoulder. “Table’s yours, Veronica, enjoy.”

Keith’s nose scrunched. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that. Who’s Veronica?” 

Lance paused. “Veronica, y’know. Archie, Jughead, Betty? You know Shakespeare but you don’t know Netflix?” Keith must’ve looked confused because Lance threw up his hands. “Oh, come on. Everyone knows Archie.”

“No…?” Keith opened his small tin of salad and sliced oranges and tried not to scowl at it. Ugh, it was drowning in cherry tomatoes, covering a bed of that weird, hairy-looking lettuce he absolutely despised. “Never heard of it. Should I assume it’s an insult, then?”

“Probably. But at least I didn’t call you Cheryl. I’m pretty sure that honor goes to Sara Wren.”

For the second time, Keith was caught completely by surprise - both by Lance’s comment and his own laughter. “That certainly didn’t take you long at all. But if you’re implying what I think you are...yeah, she’s a bitch.” 

“Unfortunately. I wish it’d taken me much longer to have the pleasure of her acquaintance. Don’t worry, though, you’ll always be my number two.” Lance cracked another one of his crooked smiles that seemed to come out when he was making a sarcastic joke. “Anyways, don’t break too many hearts, or get involved with murders. It’s not a good look.” He tapped the table as a goodbye.

“Wait.”

Lance turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

With no idea what was pushing him to say so, Keith looked down at his sandwich and then back up. “It’s Thursday.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s usually Thursday on Thursday.”

“No - I mean, yes, but that’s not - look.” Keith tried again. “There’s an extended faculty meeting in the Middle School on Thursdays while they’re in EC’s. The faculty lounge will be empty, and they always get catering, and I hate salad, and I have a key and a laptop…” 

Jesus, how had he gone from Shakespeare to Hooked on Phonics in the same conversation? Keith licked his lips and looked up at Lance. “Um. If you want to show me whatever. On Netflix.”

Lance blinked at him. Then blinked again, but he didn’t make a move to leave. Keith shifted in his chair with a squeak that sounded obscene when backtracked by Boccherini. 

“Are you-” Lance’s nose wrinkled like he could smell the chair squeak. “-asking me on a date?”

“What!” Color flooded Keith’s face. “ _ No!  _ I was trying to...to be  _ nice  _ and!” He snapped up his bag and stood, sending the chair to slam into a potted plant. “And what makes you think I’d even  _ want  _ to go on a - a y’know - with you anyway?!”

Lance’s face squished more. He snorted and covered his mouth. It didn’t muffle the guffaw of unbridled laughter that spit out of him. “Yikes. Sorry,” he said around giggles.

Keith pursed his lips together and frowned. “You could just say ‘no,’ you don’t have to make fun of me. Sorry I asked.”

“I didn’t-” Gasp. “-make fun of you.” More laughter. “You said no for me.” Lance wiped his eyes and sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been rejected that badly and I didn’t even do the asking.”

His fists found his hips and he glowered at Lance, well aware that his entire face and neck area were only becoming more disgustingly scarlet. “You are  _ infuriating,  _ you know that?” 

“Oh, you’ve made it quite clear and the feeling is mutual.” Lance’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Does that mean no more free food?”

Chewing his lip, Keith looked him over, from the top of his soft-looking curls to the flush of laughter bringing out his freckles and down to his cocky smile. 

...Fuck. 

Keith grunted in defeat. “...Come on.”

“Wait. Really? You wanna watch  _ Riverdale _ , now, with me, while we steal the teachers’ food?” Lance’s duotone gaze was staring past Keith - probably at imagined food.

Keith grabbed his satchel and looked over his shoulder. “Well? Are you coming or not?” 

Lance jogged to fall into step next to Keith. “I never say no to food.”

Leading the way, Keith took them around the empty corridors to the second building. The Middle School, as Keith had surmised, was largely empty. The faculty lounge was down the hall past the library, and though there was a class of Sixth graders typing book reports, the only teacher in sight was the librarian, and she wouldn’t be leaving her post any time soon. 

Keith fit his master key into the lock and pushed the door open, smiling when the automatic lights illuminated a spread of sandwiches, bags of chips, and an entire table of baked goods that made Keith’s day  _ infinitely  _ better in a single second.

“Ooh, this all comes from Eileen’s. That place is incredible.” As if to demonstrate, he went straight for a plate of eclairs and shoved nearly the entire thing into his mouth. 

Oh, fuck.  _ Sugar.  _ Real, honest-to-god sweet things with calories and health issues and all the stuff he was never allowed at home. Keith moaned. 

"Never heard of it." Lance took one of the plates like he was at home and made his way around. He was evidently determined to cram one of everything on it even if it meant cutting things in thirds or fourths. "Honestly I don't even care if it's good; I’m so fucking hungry." His stomach growled loud enough for Keith to hear. 

Keith followed behind him, a little more discriminate in his choices, before settling down on the ugly upholstered couch in the corner to set up his laptop. It occurred to him that he wasn’t exactly minding his manners and would normally never inhale food like this with an audience, especially not a stranger. Stealing a look at Lance with his cheeks stuffed full like a hamster eased his trepidation somewhat and he spared a private smile at the sight. 

“Here.” He turned his laptop around once he’d logged into his Netflix account. “It might be a little laggy, since I’m piggybacking off the car dealership next door. We can’t stream on the school WiFi or they’ll turn yours off remotely. It’s very Big Brother.” 

Lance set his plate on the table and clicked around. His voice was muffled by sandwich as he spoke, "Same at Anderson, not that their WiFi could handle it in the first place." He pressed play and fiddled with the angle of the screen until he was satisfied.

As the opening played, Lance settled on the floor a good distance from Keith's legs. He rested his plate on top of his knees and under his chin so that the food had the shortest distance to travel. As soon as a very red headed girl came on screen, Lance pointed with his sandwich. "That's Sara." 

“You wouldn’t’ve had to tell me.” Keith pulled a sour face. “I would have known. It even looks like her, doesn’t it?”

Lance nodded with a snort. "Especially the walk." 

“Agreed.”

They didn't talk again until Veronica met Archie, though Keith found that, for some indeterminate amount of time, he’d only been listening. He’d been busy stealing glances at the way the blue light changed the tone of Lance’s skin. 

"Wow,” Lance deadpanned. “I take it back. Veronica is nicer than you." 

Well, that brought him back to the present. Keith smacked the back of his head with a bag of Veggie Crisps. 

By the time the first episode ended, they had both put away at least two sandwiches and made a sizable dent in the snacks. When the credits were rolling, Keith shook his head. “You know what - putting aside how offended I should be by your nickname - screw you by the way - that wasn’t awful.” 

Lance's head rested on the cushion as he stared up at Keith. His Adam's apple stuck out prominently at that angle, bobbing as he spoke. "Glad you liked it.” 

Keith dragged his eyes away from Lance’s neck and licked cream from an eclair . “And of all the things we’re doing right now that might be frowned on, I’m not sure which would go over worse - being alone together in the teacher’s lounge, being in the teacher’s lounge at all, or sneaking away to watch a show where two girls kiss.” 

The playful smile fell and Lance sat up. "What's wrong with two girls kissing?" 

It was a question sharpened like a knife, ready to cut if Keith gave the wrong answer. He held up his hands placatingly. “Nothing. Nothing at all - at least there shouldn’t be. But like I said, I obviously, unfortunately, don’t speak for...well, most of Merriweather. The board, at least, and I’m sure you can imagine what they’re like. I don’t really know about the students as much, to be honest with you.” 

"Mm,” was his noncommittal answer. “That explains why GSA wasn't one of the clubs I could join," Lance sighed, but he was still guarded. 

Did that mean…? Keith looked at him, licking his lips and hesitating. “Are you - does that, um, mean...you know what, you don’t have to answer that, I’m sorry.”

"Gay?" The light from the laptop shifted, covering Lance’s face in shadow

“I’m sorry,” Keith said again. “That was intrusive.” 

Lance stared at him, only the blue eye illuminated from the screen. Keith shifted, feeling very much on display and like he was being put through some kind of silent test. 

"Yes, I'm a hundred percent gay," Lance said at last. As if on cue, the episode started and illuminated Lance once more.

He just said it so easily, like he’d done it a thousand times before. For all Keith knew, he really had. It was a smooth, self-confident statement, and his mismatched eyes were perfectly serious as he watched Keith for a reaction. 

If anything, the only thing Keith felt was respect. Well...and disappointment. Lance being gay meant that…

...Actually. Keith didn’t really know what that would mean, given...certain other realities that he didn’t need to be dwelling on while Lance was waiting for him to speak. 

“Cool,” he said. “That’s...cool.” 

Lance gave him another cautious once-over as episode two played unwatched behind him. "Don't tell anyone here. I'm out at Anderson, but I don't trust these  _ rotten apples _ .” His gaze was cutting and Keith wasn’t sure why he desperately needed Lance to keep looking, keep searching him like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Maybe, part of him thought, if Lance looked long enough, he’d recognize the little mirror inside Keith that would reflect back the ‘ _ Me too, I’m like you, in a way’  _ that he didn’t have words for.

Maybe Lance had seen it because he said, “I'm not even sure why I told you, but I think you'll keep it." 

“Promise,” Keith said solemnly. He couldn’t handle any more of that discerning stare, so the oath was sworn to his sandwich crust instead.

“For what it’s worth…” Keith began cautiously after he’d had a second to gather his thoughts. “I thought your idea about where to donate the carnival money was a good one. I hope one day we can work something like that out.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe if we murdered the board.” 

"Yeah?" Lance’s voice was bright, teasing, and Keith decided that was the way he liked it to sound. "Thought I told you murder was a bad look for you." 

“It’s in this season.” Keith stuck his tongue out. 

"Guess you'd know better than me." Lance leaned over and stuffed Keith's tongue back in his mouth. With his physical fingers. 

There was a moment of vertigo while he processed the shock of that before he narrowed his eyes. Murder was  _ definitely  _ in. 

Keith’s shock had cost him; Lance was already on the other side of the room. 

“Not gonna save you, Fuentes,” Keith said dangerously, before launching himself off the couch and skittering around the table, grabbing a cream puff with the intent of shoving it directly into Lance’s self-satisfied face. 

A whole-ass salad smacked open-faced onto his blazer. The entire bowl.  _ Plus  _ dressing.

Keith looked at the orange splatter of french onion on his pristine white shirt long enough to register it before vaulting over the couch to cut Lance off. A chocolate tart caught Lance on the cheek, spraying mousse as it did. Splatters of it mixed with Lance’s freckles, blending into the already existing pattern of starspray across his nose. He ran to escape  _ and  _ to reload.

"Oh c'mon, not the face,” Lance whined and then did exactly that to Keith, lobbing a croissant at his head. It whizzed past as Keith ducked, missing his hair by millimeters and slapping forlornly against the microwave. 

“Why not? Not like I’m hurting your money-maker.” He tried to throw the cookies like frisbees, but they mostly just sailed past and hit the wall. Changing tactics, Keith opted to use one of the plastic spoons as a catapult for sandwich pickles. 

"You think it's my moneymaker?" Lance posed, finger gun under his chin. A sliced pickle hit him in the cheek and stuck. 

“I think  _ you  _ think that.” 

“I do.”

That only made Keith want to launch more pickles at his stupid face, so he did exactly that.

One hit him in his noes, another bounced off his shoulder, and then Lance caught the next one in his mouth. "Holy shit, did you see that?" 

Keith was about to agree and challenge him to catch a few more when he heard voices echoing through the door. The particularly high-pitched one was most likely the Headmistress of Middle School, who was a whole special brand of insufferable on her own. That would make getting caught twice as awful. 

In a fit of panic, he scrambled back to the door and held the handle, throwing his weight against it. Almost as soon as he had, the doorknob wiggled in his hands. 

“That’s odd,” a woman’s muffled voice commented. Yep, definitely the Headmistress. “I think the door might be stuck.”

“What? Try jiggling it.”

“I know how to open a door,  _ Jeremy _ .”

“Maybe you’re not jiggling it hard enough,” Jeremy grumbled something Keith couldn’t make out through the door.

The Headmistress sighed. “Let’s go get Sam, I suppose. I left my jacket in there.”

When the footsteps retreated with continued soft chatter, Keith waved Lance over frantically. “C’mon, out out out. We gotta go.” 

“Shouldn’t we, like, clean up?” Lance whisper-yelled. 

“No!” Keith ran to grab his laptop and crammed it into his bag before scanning over everything. “Ghosts did it, I don’t care, move your ass!” 

Lance hesitated before grabbing his bag and shuffling out of the room way too slow for Keith’s liking.

Keith basically dragged him as they traced the most obscure path he could manage to the gymnasium. Since the Lower School had gym in the morning and Middle and Upper school PE consisted of outdoor sports in the afternoon, Keith was pretty confident he could get them into the locker rooms without being seen. Provided that Lance stopped clomping along behind him like he was trying to annoy his downstairs neighbors, anyway. Then they could change and shower and come up with a very good reason they’d been gone for so long and were now wearing different clothing. 

Would anyone notice? The uniforms all looked the same, more or less. Maybe he could just find exact copies.

Fuck, what if someone wondered why his hair was wet? No one did that, did they? Kept track of other people’s hair?

Or what if - 

"Hey, woah." Lance dug his heels in, pulling Keith to a jostled halt. "You don't need to rip my arm off, we escaped."

Keith turned on him with an incredulous glare. “You don’t know that!”

"Okay, okay. Maybe we need to calm down there a bit. And. Let. Go." Lance tugged his arm away, rubbing his wrist. "We're fine. You're making us look more suspicious." 

“Maybe if you’d hurry up,” Keith hissed, “We’d be in the gym already. Come on - back door’s this way.”

The thick scent of chlorine hit them like a wall when they finally made it inside, even as far away from the pool as the basketball court was. It, and the resulting humidity the pool created, had always been Keith’s least favorite part of being in gym class. Aside from tennis skirts. And teamwork. 

As he’d predicted, the gym was completely empty, and he sent up a little mental prayer to the Varsity gods for their reliable scheduling patterns. Making a beeline for the coach’s office, he steered them to the uniform closet. It held a modest stash of extra uniforms in case of emergencies. Lance might wind up walking around in a letter-sweater-sans-letter, but at least it wouldn’t be eclair jizz and mustard. 

“Are we hiding out in the gym for the rest of classes today? Because skipping sounds so much more fun than hiding next to someone’s gym socks.”

“Cute.” Keith rummaged around one of the cabinets and pulled out a green cardigan that was probably too small for Lance, but oh fucking well, they weren’t exactly spoiled for choice. “Here. And clean khakis. Boys’ locker rooms are on the left. There’s soap and shampoo and stuff in the showers and the clean towels are in the towel warmers to the right of the stalls. Be fast.”

“Towel warmers?”

“Yes, of course. Where else would they be?”

Lance eyed him like he’d said the gym was named after Sara Wren for her selfless contributions to humanity. “Are you  _ sure  _ you didn’t drag me into a hotel? Man, Merriweather Academy better watch out or else I might start to like it here.”

“That would be terrible.” Keith hesitated, then pulled a cardigan for himself as well. It was absolutely one of the boys’ cuts, but they were unisex enough that he could probably get away with it. 

He checked his watch. “Alright, you’ve got twenty minutes before we need to report back to Mr. Moreau. Make up something about what I’ve been showing you all this time.”

“Tell him you found me lost without my schedule and we had to print a new one at the library, but I’d lost my ID so I didn’t know my student number and we had to call my mom who was at work.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “And that is precisely what we  _ won’t _ be doing, given that none of us have numbers. Or IDs. So how about: you just wanted me to show you the stuff you didn’t see during orientation. Done.” 

“That explains why I couldn’t find my ID,” Lance said with a frown.

He couldn’t help it - he laughed. Not because he was trying to make fun of Lance, but because he looked genuinely perplexed and it was...annoyingly endearing. “Yes, that would do it.”

Lance elbowed him. “Some guide you are. No wonder I’m incompetent.”

Keith jabbed him back with a small grin of his own. “Oh, no, you did that all on your own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! First we would like to announce that we are running an interest check for a Lamplight Zine illustrated by Pretzellus! if you can take some time to [fill in the interest check](https://forms.gle/mC5FDchy4TEVPHNm7) we'd really appreciate it!
> 
> Also, we are running a fic competition on Twitter! It's valentines day Klance and you can submit a fic you've already written or write a new one! please [check it out](https://twitter.com/MyHeartComp) we'd love to read YOUR works
> 
> Autumn: I’m gonna get a little mushy here. 
> 
> Return readers might know that a good portion of PLS was Sail getting to share what it’s like to be them on a daily basis, hopefully to shed a little light on the reality of living with ADHD/being ND. In the same vein, this is a story I wanted to tell about what it was like to be me. That sounds really self-centered, but here’s the thing: queer authors need to tell queer stories so that future queer kids get to see themselves in ways we did not. The best way we can do that is by pulling from our own experiences. So - yes, I went to a very fancy prep school, was trained as a debutante, went to cotillion, was expected to eat and dress and perform to exacting gender roles, and didn’t have much opportunity to question it. If I had, maybe I would have learned a lot more about myself a lot sooner. 
> 
> So Sail and I are offering this as a love letter to anyone who needs to know that you’re not alone, you’re very seen, and we’re very, very proud of you. 
> 
> Sail: ngl i'm a huge fan of HS AUs and i never got to come out in hs, i was closeted into university. being able to find who you are and start exploring yourself at such a young age is so nice. i'm really excited for keith to accept who he is while dealing with all the typical hs drama. this is basically the story i wish i had growing up
> 
> Thank you for the beautiful art by [eekzley](https://twitter.com/eekzley)
> 
> And thank you to our team of betas who we overwork with our output levels, you're the reason we can keep creating polished stories!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our fic competition on Twitter is underway! It's valentines day Klance and our judges are reading them now. If you'd like to follow, please [check it out](https://twitter.com/MyHeartComp)
> 
> Our [Lamplight Zine, a Klance Mothman AU](https://twitter.com/LamplightZine) collaboration with pretzellus is under production, please follow for updates and answers to your questions!
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> Check us both out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

-🍋-

As Keith understood it, Friday was generally considered to be the best day of the traditional work week. School week. Whatever. 

He’d noticed that, on Fridays, everyone fell into one of two categories: they either became boisterous, cheerful, and distracted, or they were completely useless. Neither of these two options were helpful to Keith when it came to running the Student Council, so that was frustrating enough. 

In addition to that, with Friday came his least favorite job as President - the Friday Meeting. The entire high school would gather in the auditorium so that Keith could review the week and make announcements for the next. He’d been trained for public speaking from the first, but that didn’t mean he  _ liked  _ it. He’d just gotten good at ignoring the way his palms would sweat, numbing himself to the piercing gazes of hundreds of eyes watching him, and only him. 

He cleared his throat and tapped the mic. The soft feedback reassured him that it was on. That done, he had no further excuses to delay.

“Good afternoon,” he lied, “And happy Friday.”

Keith ran through a list of the usual announcements: upcoming sports matches, the Middle School theater’s production of  _ The Little Mermaid _ , birthdays for the week, that sort of thing. The next item on the list, however, gave him pause, and it took everything he had to keep his voice steady. 

“There was...” Keith cleared his throat. “An _ incident _ in the Faculty Lounge yesterday. Anyone with information on who was involved is asked to please speak to Mr. Moreau immediately.” 

Through the bright stage lights, Keith found Lance. He was easy to spot, since his eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open. Slowly, it turned into a mischievous grin as he sank down into his chair.

_ Wow.  _ Keith pinched his lips together to keep his face neutral. What a  _ moron _ . He couldn’t possibly be more obvious about it if he tried. 

But damn if he didn’t look adorable with his eyes all scrunched up like that. 

Keith cleared his throat again and took a sip of his Perrier to mask it. “That concludes the announcements. Have a pleasant weekend, everyone.”

Then came the worst part: the final collective, monotone, “Thank you, Madame President” that made Keith’s skin crawl. For lack of any holes to bury himself in, Keith quickly quit the stage and made his way through the side exit into the adjacent Black Box room.

He always allowed himself a minute or two of privacy after Friday Meeting. Normally, it was just to orient himself and shake off the feeling of being stared at. This time, it was to try and  _ not  _ think about how pretty Lance’s eyes were in the amber lowlights of the auditorium. 

His one blue eye and his one brown eye. His...his  _ gay  _ eyes, because Lance was  _ gay,  _ meaning he - well, he might not - 

Whatever. Keith scoffed quietly and shouldered his bag. He didn’t have time for this kind of moony bullshit. He had a Chemistry test in fifteen minutes.

He yanked the door open and took the back staircase up to the lab. It was early, so he could likely expect the room to be empty for some additional brooding before his exam. 

That would be good. Maybe he could even sneak in five more minutes of vocab before he - 

Keith froze when he realized  _ no _ , the room was not empty; worse yet, it was occupied by Lance and  _ James fuckin Griffin _ . 

Great. Whoever said Fridays were the best could shove it right up their ass.

“I don’t really care, okay? Whatever you think you’re doing here, you don’t have to.”

That was Lance, and he didn’t sound pleased. Neither of them seemed to have noticed the door opening. 

He should announce himself, or clear his throat or something, but…

“All I’m saying,” James went on, “Is that you gotta be  _ careful  _ with that one, man. I’ve been there, done that, and let me tell you, Kira Merriweather is about as frigid in her free time as she is at school. I tried to hold her hand, and she glared at me like I’d kicked her fucking dog.”

“I would, too, if I had to hold your hand.” Lance sat down on a stool and let his bag bang against the metal table. It even made Keith flinch. “Look, who are you again? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I’m  _ not  _ your friend, I  _ don’t plan _ on being your friend, and I’m only here so that I get a chance at college. I wouldn’t date a single one of your stuck up, snob-nosed asses even if you paid me.”

James’ eyes narrowed. “You want to say that one more time?”

The whole time Lance had been slouching or sitting, but now he rose from his chair and  _ kept  _ rising. Being all leg, he looked normal while seated but standing? Oh, boy. 

Keith  _ almost _ felt sorry for James with the way Lance glared down at him like a rook at a pawn. 

“I’ll say it as many times as your waxy ears need to hear it before it gets through to your brain. I have no interest in anyone at this shitty-ass school. You’re all a bunch of shallow douches who think a Louis Vuitton bag is a personality trait. So you can keep your advice about ice bitches and suck my-”

Keith slammed the door shut so hard that it shook the glass beakers in the cabinets. 

“Dick!” Lance shouted as he jumped. As soon as their eyes locked, Lance had the decency to look ashamed. James, on the other hand, looked satisfyingly terrified.

Keith had a lot of practice in making his entire being as frosty as possible, as James had so helpfully pointed out, and he used every ounce of that training to drop the temperature in the room as he glared at them both.

“Sorry to interrupt your moving speech, Mr. Fuentes. Feel free to carry on. I’d love to hear the rest of it. But unfortunately,” he said, eyes sliding to James. “Mr. Griffin won’t be joining us. Varsity sports begin practice in ten minutes. Goodbye, Mr. Griffin.”

James’ mouth opened and closed for a moment, like he was trying to summon words by the physical act of moving his lips. When he came up short, he just ducked his head and mumbled, “Bye, Madame President.”

He was considerably quieter about using the Chemistry room door than Keith had been. Once it clicked shut, Keith made his way to his seat in crisp, purposeful silence. 

Behind him, Lance scraped his stool across the tile and it rattled as he settled into it. “Hey, um, how much of that did you hear?”

“Quite a bit, and it was certainly illuminating,” Keith said archly to his textbook. “Now if you’ll excuse me, this  _ shallow ice bitch _ would like to do well on the Chemistry test being offered by this  _ shitty-ass school.”  _

The stool rattled again and he half expected Lance to walk over. When he didn’t, Keith wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. 

“Okay, I deserved that.” Lance sighed with the accompaniment of a textbook against hollow metal. “I didn’t mean - I mean. I’m not the one that called you...I’m sorry.”

Keith turned a page. “Don’t bother.”

“For the record, he was talking shit about you and I got mad. That’s all.” Lance really did sound sorry, but there was no way Keith was going to forgive him that easily.

He waited for the sound of turning pages and a few bodies to fill the seats around them before he peeked over his shoulder. In some kind of cosmic payback, Sara Wren was leaning over Lance’s textbook and Lance was leaning as far away as he could without falling off his stool. 

_ Serves him right,  _ Keith thought vindictively. Sara as a lab partner made for a pretty good punishment; maybe he’d think about forgiving Lance later for having dealt with her.

_ ‘I wouldn’t date a single one of your stuck up, snob-nosed asses _ .’ 

Keith glared at Lance as he tried to wrestle his textbook from Sara. 

_...Much _ later.

-🍋-

Keith managed to avoid Lance’s attempt to catch him after Chemistry, and therefore didn’t see him again for the rest of the day. 

As always, Blaytz was waiting by the back door for Keith at 3:30 pm exactly. 

Keith slid into the back seat of the black car, grateful for air conditioning, cold lemon water, and tinted windows. Everyone could just fuck off and leave him the hell alone.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” Blaytz greeted cheerfully. “And how was your day?”

...Everyone except Blaytz. No matter how angry or annoyed or exhausted Keith was, it was impossible to be short with Blaytz. His perpetually perky driver was one of the few people in his life Keith had always been able to count on without fail, even for something as simple as defusing his sullen mood. 

“Uh...fine I guess. What about yours?”

“Oh, nothing to complain about.” Blaytz turned the car out of the parking lot and glanced at Keith in the rearview mirror. “I picked the elder Ms. Merriweather up at the airport earlier this morning. She’s home for the Chatham horse races this weekend. Which you also are expected to attend.”

Fuck, he’d forgotten about that. So much for a relaxing weekend. Whenever his mother was home, it was function after function after function. 

Keith sighed and slumped back against the seat. “Grand.”

He could see Blaytz struggling not to smile in the mirror. 

-🍋-

All things considered, it wasn’t the worst Saturday he’d spent. His mother had mostly been occupied with making the rounds. She’d been so busy that she hadn’t even fussed over his choice of outfit. He’d foregone the little sundress she’d suggested in favor of khaki pants, despite how warm it still was. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. 

Keith spent most of the race just watching the horses, though he did talk to Tom a little once he’d shown up with his father. 

He absolutely did not dwell on the new kid. In no way did he ever cross Keith’s mind. 

Except for being a dick. Seriously! What was that guy’s problem, anyway?

Ugh, Lance.

_ Ugh. _

Jesus, what a tool. 

Finally, on Sunday, Keith’s mom kissed him goodbye and left for another two-week business trip of some sort or another. That meant Keith was free to spend the day with bedhead in his gym shorts while he cuddled his dogs, and devoted literal hours to steamrolling preteens on Overwatch. 

It was sort of a shame that it wasn’t more of a challenge. He was pretty used to being one of maybe two or three good people on a team of trigger-happy morons who didn’t understand how to use the maps, or what a balanced team looked like. Keith put up with a lot of shit in his life, so he absolutely refused to play support, even when their team was dying, rezzing, and dying again on the same spots over and over. He’d be damned if he’d play a healer, no matter how much they were losing. 

His personal motto: It didn’t matter if you won or lost, it was how much you blew up. Winning was obviously a plus, but not enough to hang back from the fun and play support. 

Standards.

For the most part, he usually stuck with anything with guns - he wasn’t too picky - but his mounting frustration created a direct correlation between Level of Pissed to Size of Gun. As a result, he’d been playing Zarya with her giant fucking hand cannon for the last two rounds. It wasn’t helping much. 

It was no surprise that people kept dropping from the game. With no one to heal, they were getting their asses handed to them in increasingly embarrassing ways. He watched the chat box light up as a few new people joined the character selection screen. One of them caught his eye, nagging at the back of his mind. 

**BlueLeon: if none of you cowards will take support then I will, but if you spam the heal emote from nine thousand feet away from me**

**BlueLeon: i’ll heal everyone but you**

_ BlueLeon. _ Where had Keith seen that before? Had they played together or against each other at some point? 

Nah, that was impossible.

Keith typed a quick reply. 

**Scarletsc0rpi0n: I’ll cover you if you stick close**

**BlueLeon: thanks p0rn, back a bro up**

**XxDarthMaulFuxX: gogogogogo**

**Scarletsc0rpi0n: not if you call me that I won’t**

**BlueLeon: sorry, broette**

He scowled at his screen as he typed.

**Scarletsc0rpi0n: nope nevermind you’re on your own**

They didn’t have much more time to banter as the character selection screen disappeared and loaded them into the waiting area. Immediately, a snow owl-skin Ana ran over and started circling him. It was irritating to begin with, but the skin’s wide-open, bright blue eyes made it downright creepy. They practically filled his screen as whoever this asshole was kept circling and circling and circling and cir-

_ Then  _ Keith remembered. 

He had totally played with this obnoxious dudebro before. They’d, annoyingly, made a really good team, so they’d opted to stick together until Keith had to call it a night. He didn’t make a habit of friending people, so he’d assumed they’d never get matched again. The chances of that were, like, a million to one.

Yet here this guy was, doing that fucking irritating thing where he’d spend the entire waiting period running in circles around Keith to make it hard to move. 

**Scarletsc0rpi0n: oh it’s you**

Ana stopped so that Keith’s view was clipping through the sprite.

**BlueLeon: me?**

**Scarletsc0rpi0n: we played together before. You made me play Pharah for like an hour**

**BlueLeon: Pharah! bro, long time no deathmathc we should do it again!**

Ana jumped, clipping through Keith with every bounce. It was like the digital equivalent of a hyperactive puppy bouncing for attention.

Keith walked backwards so he could fucking see.

**Scarletsc0rpi0n: honestly kinda surprised. what are the chances? Literally, gotta be like .02% or something**

**BlueLeon: obviously its fate, we’re destand pharmacy bluepo0rn**

**BloodShotZeus: wow please just kiss already**

**Scarletsc0rpi0n: it’s not pr0n it’s ‘pion’, fucking ‘scorpion,’ you know like the animal, it doesn’t**

Keith didn’t have time to continue his rant. The door opened and the match began. 

It was clear that, yet again, he and BlueLeon far outranked everyone else on their team, but since they were  _ still  _ getting creamed with BlueLeon unable to heal anyone because they kept  _ running the fuck away _ , Keith made a call. He knew BlueLeon was about to have a field day with his choice, and that the chat would probably give them both shit again for playing a fan-favorite pairing, but he was sick of getting his ass kicked.

**Scarletsc0rpi0n HAS SWITCHED TO PHARAH**

**Scarletsc0rpi0n: come on, let’s do it your way**

**BlueLeon: yesssss ilu let’s go**

**BlueLeon HAS SWITCHED TO MERCY**

**KYJelly69: hawtt**

**BlueLeon: imma ride you so hard**

**Docmcstuffme19: I ship it**

**Gaylord69: this is so gay**

**XxDarthMaulFuxX: gogogogogo**

**Scarletsc0rpi0n: just shut up and heal**

Mercy’s voice sounded from somewhere behind him. “Understood!” 

**BlueLeon: anything you say, love**

It was an immediate game changer. And more than that - it was  _ fun.  _ Because Keith could fly, he was able to witness the chaos as he rained rockets down on the other team. It was the sort of carnage he’d been craving, and since BlueLeon-Mercy was permanently tethered to him, keeping him alive, they were virtually unstoppable. 

A few of their teammates did make teasing comments like  _ “awww we legit just saw Pharmercy become canon” _ and  _ “I live for this gay shit,”  _ and honestly? Keith didn’t mind. BlueLeon was funny on top of being a solid player, and their banter was invigorating. He even found himself flirting back on occasion.

This time, when Keith had to go, he hesitated before disconnecting.

Hovered his hands over the keyboard. 

Thought - ah, screw it. 

**Scarletsc0rpi0n: you can add me if you want**

A friend request popped up on his screen almost immediately. 

**BlueLeon: let’s play again soon, love, i’m always down for a free ride**

Keith snorted.

**Scarletsc0rpi0n: yeah sure. anytime**

-🍋-

By approximately 8:32 on Monday morning, the zen Keith had achieved on Sunday was gone. He’d been on campus for less than ten minutes and had already put out three scheduling fires and developed a deep yearning to reach the espresso bar. 

He was headed in that direction when he overheard something that made him pause. 

“This isn’t fair. I went to class yesterday, Friday, whatever. Why am I being changed now?”

Great. Keith knew that voice, especially all laden with attitude like that. 

There was no way to avoid walking by the registrar unless he went out the back of the building and circled all the way around, and he wasn’t going to let the uneasiness of seeing Lance again force him onto the backroads.

Keith schooled his expression and strode purposefully towards the front desk. 

“Is there a problem, Mr. Fuentes?” He asked, cool and polite. 

“Yes, there’s a problem,” Lance said before turning. When he did, he snapped his mouth shut and smiled awkwardly. “Oh, uh, Kira, it's fine.”

Well, that felt a little bit like a win. At least Lance was still as uncomfortable as Keith. 

“What’s the trouble?” He asked the receptionist.

“It seems, Miss Merriweather, that one of your peers is already fluent in his chosen language of study.” She turned to Lance. “Which is quite against the rules.” 

Oh. Well, that likely wasn’t Lance’s fault. Who would start a new language their last year of high school?

“Mr. Fuentes-”

“Lance,” Lance interrupted him.

“-Was likely just unaware of that rule, but I’m certain we can get him switched easily enough.”

“I don’t want it switched. I’ve taken Spanish since 6th grade. I want to take Spanish.”

“Then consider this an excellent opportunity to expand your horizons.” Keith smiled at him. “After all, that’s what makes Merriweather such a competitive preparatory school. Especially when it comes to college applications.”

Lance’s nose wrinkled and he bit his lip. 

“So, then, will you sign the change slip?” The receptions asked, pushing the paper toward Lance.

“It’ll help me get into college?” he asked Keith, ignoring Ms. Winkler entirely. 

Keith cocked his head. “Genuinely? It looks good when you try new things and are more well-rounded. That’s why the rule exists.”

With a defeated sigh, Lance scribbled his name on the form. “This better pay off.”

Ms. Winkler almost sagged with relief, making Keith wonder how long this argument had been going on. “Wonderful! Mr. Fuentes, here is your new schedule and as they say,  _ bonne chance! _ ”

Lance stuffed the paper into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Yeah, sure. Boon shans.” 

Keith’s inner icy bitch was thoroughly vindicated. He smiled at Lance again. “Happy to help. Have a pleasant day.”

“Uh, wait. Sorry, um, about Friday…” Lance shuffled forward, slouching closer to Keith’s height while still keeping his distance.

Keith glanced at Ms. Winkler before turning down the nearest hallway, looking over his shoulder to indicate Lance should follow.

Lance’s quiet footfalls followed him without a word.

When it was just the two of them, Keith folded his arms across his chest defensively. “Like you said - you don’t need to make nice with anyone you don’t want to. Save your apologies, and just agree to leave me out of your future... _ conversations _ .”

“I don’t, but what if I  _ wanna  _ make nice with you?” Lance shifted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You didn’t deserve that and I don’t think that way about you, at least not anymore. I mean, you’re still kinda a brat, but I like it. Keeps me on my toes. Like Archie and Veronica, yeah?”

Keith raised an eyebrow at him. “You always insult people when you’re apologizing for insulting them?”

"Do you always tell new students on the first day that they’re the ‘bare minimum?’”

“So far, you’re the first.” He could acknowledge that line had been a bit of a dick move, but he wasn’t in the mood just then to admit that to Lance. “But the day is young.”

“Still plenty of chances with all these rotten apples.” Lance bumped him with his shoulder. “I believe in you.”

Keith frowned and bumped him back harder. “Stop doing that.”

“Why?” Lance tapped him again, smile widening.

“Because I told you to.” Keith went for his leg this time, tapping it hard with the side of his foot. “That’s reason enough.”

Lance retaliated in kind. “Okay, I’ll stop. But you gotta forgive me.”

“That’s extortion,” Keith countered, but he couldn’t help the slight tug at the corner of his lips. “But fine. You can work off your sentence in French.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Lance groaned, slumping against the wall next to him. “Everything is already harder here. That was my one class I got to sleep off my bus ride.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Madame Valentine is very nice and she’ll be thrilled to have you. No exaggeration. She exists solely to teach French.” 

“At least it’ll be easy, right? First year of a language can’t be that hard.” Lance turned to him like he was actually expecting reassurance. 

Keith patted his shoulder. “ _ Bonne chance.” _

"Sure, yeah. Bone shaws." 

-🍋-

Tom slammed into the student council room. “She did it. I don’t know and don’t ask me. I didn’t ask her and I don’t want to know. But, she did it. Two hundred monogrammed water bottles and she didn’t use a dime of the budget.” Tom let the box slam onto the table next to Keith. 

Keith didn’t give him the satisfaction of jumping, but he did have to swallow his heart back down. “...Well. I can’t say I’m not impressed, but I also have no interest in Camille’s methodology.”

Tom grinned. “Do you know the best part?”

“Enlighten me.”

“There’s twenty more boxes and they’re all downstairs.”

Keith had to admit - that  _ did  _ make his Monday a little better. He sat back and dropped the stack of order forms he’d been rifling through. “...Huh.”

“Don’t you ‘huh’ me, Madame President. Come on, I’m not doing this by myself. Everyone else already ditched me.”

Sighing, Keith pushed back from the table. “Fine, but no way we’re doing this alone. We’ll grab a couple of freshmen and sign their service slips for the week.” 

Tom rolled his eyes. “We don’t need an army of freshmen for 20 boxes. I’ve seen your arms.”

If he was going to get a compliment, that was the sort Keith could get behind. He smirked, crossing said arms over his chest.

“Likewise. So I’m surprised that you and your limp spaghetti noodles don’t want to pass the work onto someone else.”

“Then I’d miss out on all the fun. You know how much I love box carrying.”

Keith shook his head with a smile. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

It really didn’t take all that long, and it felt good to know that, for once, they actually had a surplus of supplies to cover some other future emergency. That didn’t mean Keith was any less relieved when Student Council was finally over and it was time for his favorite class - besides his unsupervised study hall, obviously. 

Out of all the things Keith was required to do or learn, French was his favorite, mostly because he was naturally good at it. National levels of good. It'd won him a trip to Paris when he was only 10. Of course, his mother went there all the time for work and Keith could have tagged along, but there was something gratifying about knowing he’d  _ earned  _ that trip of his own accord. 

It also helped that Madame Valentine was his favorite teacher and he was her favorite student. That meant that he got to study on his own while everyone else had to pair up. A whole hour with nothing but himself and mindless French. 

She greeted him cheerfully and handed over her copy of  _ Candide _ , which he’d been slowly translating. It was relaxing, in a way, and he settled into his seat by the window for the next 45 minutes. 

The rest of the class was practicing past participles while Keith read when the knock sounded. 

"Entrez-vous! Ah, magnifique! I’m so glad you could make it, Monsieur Fuentes!" Madame Valentine said and Keith froze. 

That...shouldn’t have been right. Lance had never taken French before. Slowly, he turned to see that, yes, that was Lance Fuentes and his obnoxious dimples somehow entering French 4.

"Come come, have a seat…" Madame Valentine scanned the room. 

No, no, no, no.  _ Please, no _ . Not his table all to himself, not his hour of solitude, please,  _ anything _ but that. 

"The seat next to Mademoiselle Merriweather is open. And I'm sure she'll be more than willing to help you catch up." 

Keith met eyes with Lance and blinked. Tried to find some way to smile. Settled for, “Hi again, I guess.”

“Hey.” Lance put his bag next to Keith’s and slipped into the chair beside him so that they shared a corner.

“Why are you here? This is French 4.”

Lance looked around the room, then back at Keith. “No, this is French 1.”

“It’s really not. Fourth period is for fourth-level language. If you were in French 1, it’d be your first class.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, but he was already digging around in his bag. He pulled out a crumpled slip and handed it to Keith. “See? Fourth period.”

Keith smoothed the schedule out and peered at it. Sure enough, Lance was scheduled for French during the fourth period. So, what was…

“Oh.” Keith felt himself sink a little. This was karma coming to bite him in the ass for trying to unleash karma on Lance. “It’s because the rest of your schedule is already full of required courses for graduation. You couldn’t take those at any other time, so...here you are, I guess.”

“But I don’t speak French!” Lance’s voice was inching towards panic and a few heads turned their way.

“I know.  _ Um _ \- hang on.” Keith turned around. “Excusez-moi, Madame?”

Madame Valentine scurried over, all smiles. “Ouuuiiiiiii?”

Keith glanced at Lance and back. “There’s a bit of a mix-up. Mr. Fuentes has never taken French before, but French 4 was the only block available. He’s fluent in Spanish already.”

“Oh!” Instead of concerned, Madame Valentine looked positively thrilled for some reason Keith couldn’t fathom. “Well, that’s alright. You can sit with us and I’ll give you the work book for French 1. And I’m sure Miss Merriweather will be happy to help you. After all, she spends her class period over here working with the Introductory college curriculum, since she is far ahead of her fellow peers.”

_ I’ll what now? _ Keith thought, fighting hard against looking like he’d rather make out with a skunk than try to teach Lance Fuentes how to speak basic French.

“Wait, you're fluent? What happened to broadening your horizons?” Lance whispered.

“ _ Tais-toi _ ,” Keith hissed back. 

“Excellent!” Madame Valentine clapped her hands in excitement. “Let me get you your appropriate materials, Monsieur Fuentes!”

“Thanks, er…I mean...”

“Merci,” Keith helpfully provided. 

“Mare sea.” Lance grinned at Keith, dimples and all.

Keith narrowed his eyes. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

His smile fell slightly. “Doing what?”

“Nevermind.” He tried for a smile, but it must not have translated from the way Lance slightly recoiled. “We’ll just, uh. Start from the beginning. I mean, it’s basically the exact same thing as Spanish. Just...um…”

“¿Un idioma completamente diferente? No me mientas.”

Oh, shit. Keith glanced back up, looking at Lance for longer than was probably socially acceptable, but...look, he couldn’t be entirely blamed, alright? Spanish was a sexy-sounding language no matter what, that was all. 

“Alright, fine, no idea what that meant so...you win. But here, we’ll start from the beginning. Like, ‘Hi’ beginning. You want to say hello to me as a person of authority or a friend?”

Lance leaned closer, resting his head on his fist. “Friend.”

Keith nodded. “Okay, then you use the informal conjugation. So you can say ‘Bonjour’ as ‘Hello’ or ‘Salut’ as ‘Hi.’ So - Salut. And then ask me,” Keith slowed down considerably. “Comment t’appelles-tu?”

“Cumon tepple tu?” Lance tried, nose wrinkling as he tested out the new mouth sounds. It came out sounding distinctly Spanish. Which was really annoying. Because it was cute.

Keith gave him a small smile. “Je m’appelle Keit-”

He snapped his jaw shut and stared at Lance. 

“Je ma pell keit,” Lance repeated diligently.

“-Kira,” Keith choked out, trying to mask his stumble as a cough. “Sorry. Je m’appelle Kira. Comment t’appelles-tu?”

“Kira?” Lance cocked his head. “Je m’pell kira. Cumon tepple tu.” His head fell from his fist with a sigh. “I’m never going to get this; I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

Okay so - that had been close. Luckily, they’d been saved by Keith’s shitty teaching style. He let out his breath.

“No - sorry, I wasn’t being clear. It’s ‘Hi, what’s your name?’ You’ll get it fine if you don’t sulk about it.”

“I’m not sulking,” Lance said sulkily. He pulled the textbook away from Keith and flipped through the pages. “How do you say, ‘Is it true you’ve never had ice cream?’”

It wasn’t the question he’d been expecting, but. Okay. “Uh…Est-ce que vrai que tu n’as mangé jamais de glace?”

“That; is it true?”

“C’est vrai, ca?”

“I mean, have you really not had ice cream. Like, ever?”

“Oh.” Keith frowned at him. “Where did you get that idea?”

Lance cleared his throat and sat back. “James told me,” he mumbled.

“Asswipe,” Keith muttered. “Sorry,  _ le  _ asswipe.”

"Le asswipe, indeed." Lance scooted his chair closer to the corner they shared. "But I thought I could make it up to you, y'know, that whole thing, with ice cream. My treat." 

That...was  _ not  _ where Keith had imagined this was going. He’d been preparing some sort of snappy comeback for whatever teasing he’d been about to endure, but Lance didn’t seem to be anything less than genuine. It made him squirm under all that outward honesty.

“I had gelato once when I was ten. That sort of counts, I think. But uh, no, otherwise I haven’t. My diet’s pretty restricted.”

"So is that a oui?" 

Oh his mom would  _ kill  _ him if she found out. If anyone, like, took a picture or it got back to her or - or - 

Keith considered that for a moment, though. His mom was gone for two weeks and no one else probably had any idea about how much his food was regulated. No one had any reason to tell. 

And Lance had this annoying habit, apparently, of looking like a dog wagging its tail right before someone threw its favorite ball.

“...Yeah. Um. Okay. Bien sur.”

Keith’s heart almost stopped at the sight of Lance’s dimples. His multicolored eyes sparkled despite the fluorescent lights above them. 

"Oui, oui, mon cher."

Lance probably had no idea that he’d just used the masculine form of a pet name with Keith, but it still made his stomach bubble with secret glee. It fizzed its way up into his smile.

“Cool.”

"Le cool." Lance opened his workbook, stared at the page and then closed it. "My brain just wants to answer everything in Spanish." 

“So, do that. It’s a start.”

They started off well, they really did, diligently working through the first three pages with Keith’s help. He gently corrected Lance’s pronunciation, and Lance tried to teach him to do the Spanish ‘r’, which was a total lost cause, but eventually things devolved. Keith needed to look up a word, which led to them using Google translate to insult each other, and by the end of the class period, they were losing the battle to muffle their laughter into silence so the rest of the students could work. 

It was the most enjoyable class Keith had ever spent in French. Not that he’d let Lance know. 

As they were gathering their books, Keith took the opportunity to be the first to knock into Lance for a change. “That didn’t suck. When do you want to…”

"If we use French homework as an excuse, I can tell my mom to pick me up there after work." 

“Oh, that’s not an issue. My driver can get us to and from, if you like.”

Lance zipped up his bag and threw it over his shoulder. “Nah, don’t worry about it. My mom works pretty close to the ice cream place.”

Keith nodded, nudging at the tile with the toe of his Oxford. “Great. Good. Excellent. So, uh. Right. See you later, I guess.”

“Hey, Kira.” Lance bumped him back. 

Keith grumbled and kicked his shoe. “What.”

Spinning, Lance flashed him a bright smile as he walked backward. “Glad we’re friends again.” Before Keith could answer, Lance turned and jogged off down the hall. Keith watched him gracefully weave between the other students.

As he packed up, Keith made a concerted effort to forget that smile, to try not to dwell on the fact that he and Lance were going out together after school, and to generally not feel, as the French said,  _ le fucked.  _

-🍋-

Shoes smacking concrete was his only warning before a pair of hands clasped Keith’s shoulders. He pitched forward as Lance used him as a springboard to land next to him. 

“Hey,” he grinned. “You ready for your first apology ice cream?”

Keith did his best to straighten himself out and ignore the gobsmacked looks they were getting by the last few straggling students. It was obvious they couldn’t believe someone had dared do that to  _ Kira Merriweather _ , and Keith wanted to leave the impression that, no, no one was allowed to vault over him unexpectedly, thank you very much. 

He huffed audibly so Lance would know he was displeased with having his shirt wrinkled, and checked his watch. “I suppose. Though, as you and James established, it doesn’t require the qualifier.”

“Ah-ah-ah-ah.” Lance chastised him, pressing a finger against his lips. “We don’t talk about James. School is over; only fun now.”

Keith smacked his hand away, but smirked. “New rule: just don’t talk about James, period. Where are we going? I’ll tell Blaytz to pull around.”

“Sure you don’t want to walk?” 

The truth was embarrassing to admit, but he wasn’t about to become a liar to save face with some boy. “We can. It’s just...if we do, he has to follow behind anyway.”

Lance blinked at him as comprehension dawned. “Holy shit. Well, okay then. Car it is.”

Keith texted Blaytz to pull the car around, and threw out an arm to stop Lance from opening the door himself when it rolled to a stop in front of them. Blaytz hopped out and walked around to open the door for them both with a bow. 

“Good afternoon Miss, Sir.”

“Uh, hey.” Lance shuffled at the door before sweeping his arms towards the seats. “You first.”

“Oh, so you do have manners somewhere in there.” Keith feigned surprise as he folded himself in and slid across to the opposite side. It was a spacious car, but he was still conscious of trying to keep himself pressed as close to the side as possible so as not to accidentally touch Lance. 

Lance copied him almost move for move as he slid in right next to him. “Nice car.” 

Blaytz clicked the door closed but Lance jumped as if he’d slammed it. When he was back in the driver seat, he glanced over his shoulder at Lance and Keith with an unusually big smile.

“Where will we be heading, Miss?”

“Uh.” Keith looked at Lance, then back to Blaytz. “We’re…”

“Sub Zero, the ice cream place down on Irving.” Lance piped up, voice thin.

“Oh, we’re getting ice cream, are we?” Blaytz’ big smile got even bigger, and made Keith sink down a little in his seat. “What an historic occasion.” 

“How about you not worry about it?” Keith grumbled, to which Blaytz simply chuckled and turned around to start the car. 

As they pulled out of the school’s parking lot, Keith glanced over at Lance and found him staring back, but with a distinct air of eau de lost puppy.

“You can control the radio from the back of the seat in front of you,” Keith offered, trying to find a way to make him look a little less uncomfortable and/or terrified. 

“That’s okay, I’m fine.” Lance crossed his arms, sitting back into the seat. “I’ll just hang out right here and not...touch anything.”

Keith laughed. “There’s nothing you could possibly do to this car that I haven’t already done. I threw up back here after ballet, gouged a hole in the upholstery once when I got mad, and taught my dog to chew the buttons off the controls in retaliation for being grounded.”

“You…” Lance laughed in puffy exhales. “Remind me not to cross you, if it's not already too late.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Keith grinned. “I will.”

The drive was much more relaxed after that. They pulled up to the plaza full of afternoon shoppers and moms trying to finish their errands before dinner. Sub Zero wasn’t marked by anything except painted letters on the door, but when they stepped through, it was like entering the future.

The menus were all digital and linked with prop cables, like the way cartoons always showcased “spaceship.” A huge tank of liquid nitrogen in the corner was painted to look like a test tube. That was all Keith could see from the door, since a line of students all chatting made it impossible to step a foot further into the place. Keith watched as explosions of nitrogen billowed and curled, droplets rolling across the floor. A few kids tried to step on them, only to have them poof into nothing. He resisted the urge to do it himself.

Instead, Keith looked up at the menu. It stretched the length of the entire wall, most of which was a list of possible ingredients. It was like the  _ War and Peace  _ of do-it-yourself ice cream, and he’d only heard of about half of the things up there.

“Um,” he said, hoping it sounded casual and not as daunted as he felt. “So, uh, what’s good here?”

“Everything, really. They make the ice cream in front of you, so those are all just suggestions. Your imagination is the limit.”

Keith gave him a flat look that went totally unmarked, since Lance was scanning the library of ingredients like he was about to be tested on them all. “You literally picked the most complicated ice cream place in existence. I’d just have you pick for me, but I get the feeling you’re one of those people that mashes together stuff that has no business existing in the same food.”

“Nah, my creations are masterpieces. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried chocolate strawberry bubblegum mint ice cream.” Lance nudged them forward. For as long as the line was, it was moving quickly and there was only one person in front of them. 

It probably wasn’t a cause for panic. It was just ice cream.

So Keith panicked. 

“Uh. Just. Um. Chocolate? With...numbers...9 and...20? Is that a good idea?”

“Probably.” Lance stepped up to the counter. Time was up. “I’ll order first, okay? Then you’ll know what to do.” Before Keith could protest, Lance was already ordering and the cashier was looking at him expectantly.

“Miss, is this your first time?”

Well - yes, yes it was, but nobody called Keith out like that for looking like he didn’t know what he was doing. 

Back straight and chin up, Keith said, “One chocolate. With additions nine and twenty, please.” Briefly, the guilt of eating sugar at all caught up to him and his mother’s face flashed into his mind. “The...smallest size you have.”

“Sure, that’ll be $2.25.”

Keith grabbed the first crisp bill from the fold of his wallet and handed it over.

The girl frowned at the bill before putting on a customer service smile. “Sorry, we don’t take anything over $20.” She tapped the sign in front of her. “Do you have anything smaller?”

He looked down at the $50 and blushed a little. “Oh, um, actually I’m not sure…”

“Here,” Lance said, pink spoon in his mouth, “I got you.” He handed a five over to the cashier.

Keith balked and looked over his shoulder at Lance. “No - it’s fine, you don’t have to, I mean -” 

“Your change,” the cashier interrupted.

Well that just made things wildly uncomfortable. He’d certainly never entertained the idea of Lance actually  _ paying  _ for ‘apology ice cream’ - just that they would go out together to spend time and - 

Oh shit, wait. If Lance was paying, did he think of this as a date? Or was this just common practice between friends? What was the protocol? Did Keith reimburse him immediately or was he not expected to? Oh fuck,  _ was  _ it a date? Did he  _ want  _ this to be a date? 

He suddenly felt queasy. 

“C’mon, this is the fun part. I wanna watch you get blown away.” Lance locked arms and dragged Keith down the sneeze guard where liquid nitrogen was falling down the wall in clouds.

Keith let himself be pulled along, stumbling twice over his own oxfords before he regained his footing. He’d been so preoccupied analyzing the exact nature of this ice cream outing that he realized he hadn’t yet -

“-Thanks,” he blurted, “I’ll get change from somewhere and reimburse you.”

“Just buy the next one,” Lance said, face practically pressed against the glass. “Now watch.”

Cramming his panic into a secret mental filing cabinet for later, Keith followed Lance’s gaze and watched as a spiky-haired, heavily gauged girl poured cream into a big steel bowl. In went what he assumed was chocolate sauce, followed by some kind of candy, and then -

“Whoa!” Delight won out over his internal angst as Keith watched her pull a lever to release liquid nitrogen into the bowl. Immediately, a cloud of white smoke drifted over the edges and pooled on the countertop. He couldn’t help grinning at Lance. “That’s awesome. Why can’t we do this in chemistry?” 

“I know, right?” Lance turned, and they were almost nose-to-nose. “Sorry.” He stepped back.

“Um.” Keith cleared his throat and tucked his hair behind his ear. “What did you get?”

Lance held up his lumpy bowl of ice cream. “Peanut butter ice cream with bubblegum, Captain Crunch, and sprinkles. Whatever you wanna call it. Lance-izzard I guess.”

Keith felt himself physically recoil. “How are you still alive?”

“Luck, probably. And a good metabolism.”

“Aaaand that’s for you,” said the punky-looking ice cream sorcerer as she slid Keith’s cup under the glass. “Enjoy!”

He accepted it with near-reverence. Fuck, he could  _ smell  _ the sugar, and that alone was worth the trip. God, how long had it been? Maybe that cookie he’d snuck at the Fourth of July yacht parade? 

“You going to make eyes at it all night or are you going to eat it?”

“Fuck off,” Keith snapped. “I’m having a moment. I don’t think I’ve even  _ smelled _ anything sweet for months. Besides the other day in the faculty lounge, I guess.”

Lance giggled and nodded towards a diner booth with a rickety table. “Let’s sit down and you can continue your date with the dessert.”

There was that word again. Lance wasn’t making it easy to ignore. 

Keith followed behind him, and managed to hold off on devouring his ice cream the minute his butt hit the booth - a truly impressive feat, really, for which he ought to be commended. 

He scooped a small bite onto his spoon and stuck it in his mouth.

Rolled his tongue over it.

Registered the flavor.

Tried not to cry.

“Oh my god,” Keith groaned. “ _ Oh my god, _ what the  _ fuck. _ ”

“Should I leave you two alone?”

“Maybe,” Keith conceded around another spoonful. “My mother is going to kill me and I’ll die happy.”

“Well, I’ll take that as you like it.” Lance scooped a huge bite into his mouth. “I guess even if the store didn’t pass your lofty standards, the ice cream did.”

“What?” Keith paused with his spoon almost to his lips. “What lofty standards?”

Lance shrugged. “Your fancy ice cream parlors or whatever. I don’t know what you have.”

“I thought we’d established this was my first time.”

“Right but like.” Lance waved at the eternity of the seating area. “In general. I could tell you don’t come to places like this as soon as we stepped through the door.”

Keith glanced around, once again taking in the industrial decor and the little puffs of white gas. Booths patched with duct tape and mismatched tables were scattered around haphazardly. There were families everywhere, kids laughing and adults feeding them, and others their age feeding each other. It was such a relaxed, happy atmosphere. 

Of course, he never came to places like this. 

“...Just because I haven’t,” Keith said carefully, staring into his bowl. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to, or dislike it.” 

Lance stifled a laugh with his hand, but not in time to catch a little spray of ice cream. “Your face when we walked in told a different story. I thought you were about to walk right back out the door.”

Keith scowled at him. “I was expecting a countertop and a couple of chairs, not the  _ Starship Enterprise.  _ I was surprised, that’s all.”

" _ That _ was surprise? Oh boy." Lance snorted. "It looked more like you were going to lecture them on table manners and then storm out." 

“Is that so?” Keith asked archly, before dipping a finger into his ice cream and smearing it across the tip of Lance’s nose. “Oops. Where  _ are  _ my manners?”

“Dude, what the hell.” Lance wiped it off and licked his hand. “What is with you and throwing food on people?” He asked, but his tone was light.

Keith shrugged. “Some people deserve to have food thrown at them. I’m just dispensing justice.”

“Well dispense justice on your own dime. If you don’t eat it, I will.”

Leveling him with a look that held all the seriousness of a funeral, Keith said, “You will take this ice cream from my cold, dead hands, Fuentes, so don’t even try.”

“Are you always this charming or am I just lucky?” 

Keith tossed his hair and smiled. “I make a special effort for you.”

Lance snapped his head to the side, eyes wide. “Oh, fuck. What the hell?”

Following his terrified gaze, Keith turned and scanned the room, looking for anything that might make Lance look so shocked. Besides the loud, obnoxious existence of children, nothing else was amiss. It was only a few seconds, but by the time he turned his head back around and saw Lance pulling back from Keith’s ice cream, smirking around his spoon, he realized he’d been had. 

It just made him laugh. “You sneaky son of a bitch. You owe me a bite of yours. I don’t want it, but you owe it.” 

“That’s my only punishment? Seems kinda light from the ice queen.” Lance pushed his cup across.

Keith scooped a little of Lance’s monstrosity off the top, weighing it with trepidation. “I can always volunteer you to read aloud in French.”

“Ouch, not nice.” The smirk on his face said he knew exactly what Keith would think of his concoction. “What are you waiting for?”

And...fuck. Now he really had to put this shit in his mouth, didn’t he?

Keith was already wincing as his lips closed over the spoon. He pulled it out and started chewing, trying to ignore the mix of flavors and textures long enough to…

“Huh.” He blinked. “That’s...actually pretty good.”

Lance blinked back at him, stared down at his ice cream and then back up. “Are you...sure?”

“Yeah.” Keith pointed with his spoon at a colorful lump. “Especially those crunchy things. Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are.”

“Huh.” He frowned at his ice cream like it had betrayed him. “To be honest, I try to make the worst flavors so my siblings didn’t steal them. No one’s ever liked them before.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Do  _ you  _ even like it? Or did you teach yourself to like it because you had to?”

“Hmm, that’s a good question. I like it, but I’ve been making them for so long I’m not sure which. What I  _ do _ know is that it’s more fun to order strange combos and watch people’s reactions. Live on the wild side, grab danger by the horns, uh, eat lots of sugar, y’know, the cool stuff.”

Keith couldn’t help the wistful way he said, “Sounds great.”

“You should try it next time.”

The smile brought out of him was belated and probably not much more than a twist of his lips, but Keith felt the warmth of it in his belly, sweet as chemically-created ice cream. “Next time, huh? Assuming you’ll need to apologize again, or are you actually suggesting we hang out?”

“You still owe me one and besides, what better place for an ice queen then an ice  _ queem  _ shop?”

“...That physically hurt me.”

“It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” 

“And yet, you’re still so proud of yourself.”

Lance grinned. “I am.”

Their ice cream didn’t last long, but they never once pulled out their books. There were more important things to talk about. Among them was Lance grilling Keith about other things he’d never done in life that were considered normal, which led to Lance’s disbelief that Keith not only knew what video games were but played nearly every night. That in turn led to a long session of bickering about how Lance was definitely not as good as Keith at Overwatch and  _ are you kidding me _ ,  _ I’ll show you who’s good, last time I took out an entire team just by... _

It was nice. Fun. Keith hadn’t even felt the time pass when Lance’s phone went off. 

“Sorry, that’s my mom. I gotta go.” 

Keith hoped the disappointment didn’t register on his face. “Alright. Thanks again for introducing me to this place.”

“No problem.” Lance grabbed his backpack and empty ice cream cup, pausing at the end of the bench. “You’re not so bad when you loosen up, K.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Gee thanks. I appreciate the ringing endorsement of my personality.”

“Anytime.” Lance shot him with double finger guns and left Keith alone with his trash and his feelings.    
  
_ Wow.  _

Sometimes it was hard to believe that the corny fucking things Lance said or did had actually, really happened in the actual, real world. 

Sighing, Keith checked his watch. He should probably be getting home too if he didn’t want -

The door chimed as Lance popped his head back into the shop. 

“Hey, Kira!” He waved from the doorway, as if Keith wasn’t already staring at him. “See you at school.”

The disbelieving snort of laughter that came from Keith was dumb and very unbecoming, but hopefully it concealed the little thrill of hope in his stomach - the one that said  _ Lance didn’t want to say goodbye, either.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: I seriously can't believe how positive the response to this has been. Not gonna lie, I was lowkey afraid this was going to totally flop because it was too unusual or out-there for a VLD fic, that people would be put off by the inward Keith/outward Kira, but the fact that it's resonating with people means so much to us. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying! Thank you for your support and trusting us to carry this through. Your comments are what keep us going, as writers and as people - so. Just. Y'know. Thanks
> 
> Sail: Lance as Mercy lives rent free in my brain [ky was amazing and drew him](https://twitter.com/pengabubbz/status/1354364868158058500?s=20) looook LOOK AT HIMMMM ahhhhhh i have such a soft spot for lance with wingsssss *cough* so yes, um, thank you for joining us in ch 2, ch 3 is already in beta as we work hard on ch 4 if you want early access to chapters [you can find them here](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters%22)
> 
> All we can do is keyboard smash over the art for this fic, there is so much good stuff coming to you soon! This chapter features art from [pretzellus](https://www.instagram.com/pretzellus) thank you so much you sweet nips ❤️ screaming with you about lemons is the favorite part of our day ❤️
> 
> Nesta and Mic have been working overtime getting everything out and helping us with all our side projects. Special thank you for Nesta for betaing chapter 2 and 3 almost back to back! and our hearts go out to Mic, we hope that our small fandom interactions can bring some light into your days.
> 
> Check us both out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check us both out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> Art credit to:  
> [eekzley](https://twitter.com/eekzley) and [Pretzellus](https://www.instagram.com/pretzellus/?hl=en)
> 
> CW: Dysphoria, minor panic attack 
> 
> Autumn: Two kinds of things are going to happen in this fic. One, it should read as intentionally jarring when anyone calls Keith "Kira" or he has moments of panic and the feeling of -wrong- that can sometimes take over. It's the only way we could think of to describe dysphoria to anyone who has never experienced it. On the flip side, that means it could be triggering for anyone who DOES experience dysphoria. It would be silly to give individual content warnings whenever that happens, because it's a long struggle, but I thought I'd mention it nonetheless. Reading this fic is basically one giant CW for dysphoria, but I think it's really important to showcase. You can't spread empathy until you've walked in someone else's shoes, right?

-🍋-

“And you’ll be ready to go by 7?” 

“Yes, mom.”

“And wear that pretty new red dress we got for you last week. You can borrow one of my wraps so you don’t get cold.”

“Yes, mom.”

The elder Ms. Merriweather turned away from the mirror to smile at Keith, cupping his face and kissing his forehead. “That’s my girl. Thank you, darling. I’ll have Blaytz ready with the car out front. Make sure you eat a good lunch so you don’t eat too much at dinner. I think Celia’s making your favorite!” 

Keith twisted his mouth into a smile for his mother, wondering idly what she thought ‘his favorite’ might be. “Can’t wait.” 

Kimberly stepped back and gave a little twirl. “Now, tell me honestly. I can always count on you for that. How do I look? Is this too much?” 

His mother had opted for an emerald green pencil skirt with a cream blouse and matching blazer. Her black hair was pulled into a neat French twist and, thanks to who knew how many expensive creams and treatments, her pretty face was wrinkle free and tastefully made up. As usual, she looked beautiful, elegant, and powerful - like she held the entire world in her perfect palms. 

And, since she counted on Keith to do so, he told the truth. 

“You look amazing, mom. You’re going to be great.” 

She gave him another smile and pulled him in for one last quick peck on the forehead. “Flatterer. But I’ll trust your judgement. This is going to be a very good match for the company if I can manage to get Mr. Hazel on board.” 

Keith just kept smiling. “You’re gonna be late.”

“Nonsense, I’m never late.” Kimberly swatted at him playfully before gathering up her clutch and slipping into her heels. “Oh, and remember the new dog walker is coming today for Light Across the Cosmos and Rain of Hellfire Upon This Barren Shore. In case you had any plans for lying around in your unmentionables the way you like to do.” 

“A sports bra and gym shorts is hardly ‘unmentionable,’” Keith mumbled. His mother wasn’t listening. She gave herself a last spritz of her heavy perfume and pressed a long kiss into Keith’s hair. 

“Alright, darling, have a nice day. I’ll see you tonight.”

The nauseating sweetness of roses made Keith rub at his nose and sniff. “You, too. ‘Bye, mom.” 

She was gone with a wave, a smile, and a cloud of expensive florals. 

With some relief, Keith climbed the stairs back to the third floor, grateful to have at least a few hours to himself. Kosmo - excuse him, _Light Across the Cosmos_ \- raised his head from Keith’s bed and gave a few soft thumps of his tail. As he passed, Keith gave him a scratch behind his ear. 

“Just us for a while, buddy.” 

There was a low grumble from a lump under the covers. 

“All three of us,” Keith amended placatingly. The lump settled down again. 

As soon as he heard the front door close and his mom’s car pull away, he shucked off his blouse, bra, and skirt and pulled on a soft pair of boxers and an old tshirt. With a long, satisfied stretch, he flopped down sideways into his gaming chair for a few hours of mindlessly kicking the living snot out of tweenagers. 

It was therapeutic, but not exactly _fun._ He kept an eye on his friends list, hoping that BlueLeon would pop on to make things more entertaining, but whoever he was, he must have had a fuller social schedule than Keith. He was left to his own devices; Mass Destruction for One (1). 

It was about an hour and a half into that endeavor when the front door chimed. Kosmo immediately perked up and gave a low _boof._ Keith glanced up out of habit, but didn’t pay it much mind. Celia would answer it and deal with whichever dog walker they’d hired now - the third in what felt like as many weeks. 

When the doorbell melody played again a few minutes later, Keith sighed and put down his controller. Ordinarily, he wasn’t supposed to answer the door dressed as he was, but he wasn’t going to leave someone standing there in the muggy late September heat. If his mom caught him on the security camera, he’d deal with her fussing later. 

As he thumped down the stairs, he called out, “Just a second! Coming!” 

Celia popped around the corner and waved at Keith. “Sorry, Mistress, I had to get the popovers out of the oven. I’ve got it now.” She opened the door before Keith could say anything back, so he just paused on the staircase. 

“Hello!” Celia greeted brightly. “Please come in. I apologize for the wait.”

"No worries. So we’ve got a...let’s see...five year old Belgian Terv and a three year old miniature poodle, right? Sweet. Let’s get these puppers leashed up. I bet they're super ready for some play time." 

Celia stepped back and allowed the walker inside, and Keith’s hand tightened on the stair rail. 

Did he have time to run? If he moved, would he be noticed? What the fuck was he supposed to do and additionally, why the fuck was _Lance Fuentes_ standing in his _doorway_?

Like, _at his actual house_ . _On a Saturday_. 

How the hell did he just...keep popping up wherever Keith happened to be, like some tall, freckly weed?

It was getting a little ridiculous.

“Oh, they’re likely all cuddled up with the young mistress, but they’ll come if you call.” Celia kept talking, and Keith hesitated just a hair too long. When she turned around to glance up the stairs, Celia smiled right at him. “Oh, speak of the devil. Are Kossie and Term-Term in your room, Mistress?” 

Even worse, Lance turned to see who she was talking to. "Oh, hey." Lance’s eyes lit up and he grinned up at him. "Nice shirt." 

“Uh,” Keith said back around a tongue that refused to work. “Nice Lance.” _Fucking,_ **_what?!_ **“I mean. Nice to. See you. Lance. It’s nice to. Hi.”

Lance snorted. "Hi." His dual-colored eyes lingered on him longer than Keith liked. It had him squirming on the staircase and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Finally, he turned to Celia, freeing Keith from his heterochromatic tractor beam. "Did I need to know anything before I call the puppies?" 

Celia and Keith exchanged a look. 

“Well…” Celia began, “Kossie is very gentle and well-trained. Term-term...is a bit headstrong. She’s very protective of her person.” She pointed over her shoulder to Keith. “And that’s her person. But you’ll see for yourself, I’m sure.” 

Keith continued to stand on the stairwell, rotting in his own idiocy like the fungus he’d apparently become. _Just go upstairs_ , he coached himself. _Go back to what you were doing. Lance isn’t here for_ **_you._ ** _Just. Fuckin’ -_

He couldn’t, because for whatever annoying reason, he couldn’t look away from Lance. Seeing him here was very different from seeing him at school. 

At school, Lance wore his tie loose and his shirt half-tucked and his pants too short. Here, his hair was curly, obviously still damp from a shower, and he had a flush across his face that brought out his freckles - probably from walking in the unseasonably warm day. It made the white of his teeth stand out all the more when he spoke and additionally, made Keith’s legs forget how to leg, which was how he’d wound up growing roots on the third stair down. 

"Kosmo! And…” Lance glanced down to his phone. “Uh, Terminator!" He whistled loud and high through his teeth. 

Immediately, Terminator started yapping and snarling. She tore out of Keith’s room in a blur of angry white jingling but was quickly overtaken by Kosmo’s heavy thundering down the stairs. Kosmo made it down first, dancing around Lance but politely staying on all fours, tongue lolling from the side of his big grin as he pranced for attention. His sister, however, was having none of it and zeroed right in on Lance with snappy demon teeth and her horrible-sounding gremlin growl. 

Lance got down on his knees and held out his hand. “Hey, cutie. You sure are ferocious. Oooh, look at you, big scary poodle in your pink bow.”

Kosmo took the opportunity to lavish Lance with kisses, making him giggle and pull Kosmo into a one-armed hug. “Woah, buddy, not the face. I’m told that’s my moneymaker.” Mischievous eyes flashed to Keith and he winked.

Heat shot all the way down to his toes. To make up for it, Keith shouted, “Terminator! Heel!”

Immediately, Minnie sank her little butt to the ground and glanced back at Keith for further instruction. 

Well, shit. He might as well just suck it up and go all the way down, now.

As nonchalantly as possible, Keith descended the rest of the stairs without tripping over himself. He padded over to Lance and stood awkwardly next to his dogs. He gestured vaguely at Minnie, who was still looking up at Keith like she was waiting for permission to bite. “She’s, uh, actually really sweet once she gets to know you. Just kinda takes her a while to warm up.” 

“Can she have treats? I brought organic beef bits from the raw feeder’s co-op. They make it themselves, no preservatives.”

Keith blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, if she’ll take them from you.” 

Lance pulled a paper bag from his pocket and fished out nuggets of jerky. He held one out for Kosmo who lapped it up cleanly, then held another out for Minnie. 

“Hey, girl, who wants an environmentally friendly treat? You do, yes, you do.”

She sniffed it a few times, then sniffed his fingers, his wrist, then the treat again before snapping it out of his hand and chomping loudly. 

“I’ll be damned,” Keith said, crossing his arms. “What did you even put in those? Cocaine?”

“No dog can resist the co-op’s food. They’re pretty good, wanna try one?” Lance dug out another chunk of meat and held it out to Keith.

Keith held up his hands. “I’ll pass.”

Lance shrugged and popped it into his mouth.

There was a second of silence before the awkward panic started to rise in his throat again. “I guess I should - uh. Let you.” 

From the right, Celia was doing her best to smother a laugh and Keith shot her a glare. 

Lance smiled easily. “I’ll take these babies out and wear them down for you. You won’t even know they’re the same dogs.” 

Celia handed Lance the leashes and both dogs were clipped up and ready to go before Keith could even decide what he wanted to do with himself. 

“C’mon, Kosmo and Terminator. Who wants a walk?”

In a rush of fur and excited yaps, Lance was out the door. 

Celia looked at Keith with innocent eyes. “Well, isn’t he cute?” 

Keith stuck his tongue out and climbed back upstairs, determined to look at least a little less of a mess by the time Lance came back. 

In the hour it took Lance to walk his dogs, Keith showered, put on clean clothes, took those clothes off and put on different clean clothes, took those off and put the first set on again, chewed a pencil, scored two points throwing paper in his trash can, and lost two more rounds of Overwatch. He was too busy thinking about the reality of Lance here. Not at school where they saw each other out of necessity, but here, where there was no one watching or whispering. 

Keith could hear the dogs before the key rattled in the door. A faint, _“Yes, yes, we’re almost home,”_ drifted through the solid wood.

A moment later, a cheerful voice called out, “Guess who’s home!” 

It made him smile all the way up in his room. He couldn’t help it. 

Okay, he could do this. He was on his own turf and it wasn’t like him to trip over his words. 

Standing, Keith gave himself a quick once-over: army green cargo shorts, Metallica t-shirt, chest as flat as he could make it. His hair was a lost cause this soon after a shower. It was going to do its fluffy layered thing no matter what, but it was an improvement from earlier at least. 

He came down the wide, twisting stairs to the parlor and smiled to see his babies both splayed on the tile and panting like bellows. “Jeez, what’d you do to them? They look like they took you out to burn some energy, not the other way around.” 

“I have my ways. They’re going to be really sleepy tonight. That’s the Fuentes guarantee.” Lance stood from petting Minnie and looked around. “Where's their water? They’re both thirsty.”

“In the kitchen.” Keith jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “You want something to drink? Actually, you want to stay for lunch?”

Lance paused in his turn. "I mean. You're my last appointment. But I don't think I'll be able to tell the forks apart." 

“Ha-ha,” Keith said dryly. “Mom’s not home, so we can even eat with our hands if we wanted. Come on, you deserve it for dealing with Terminator.”

"I don't know, Termie is kinda sweet, just like you said. Aren't you, girl?" Lance scratched the curly white fluff under her chin. 

Minnie, the _slut_ , just straight up rolled over on her back for belly rubs. 

Keith scowled. “It took me a _year_ to get her to do that for me!” 

Lance laughed and gave in to the siren call of a soft pink belly. "I'm loveable, what can I say?" 

“See who gets secret table scraps tonight,” Keith told her, pointedly petting Kosmo. 

Kosmo’s tail thumped. 

_Suck up._ Keith rolled his eyes. “Alright, dog whisperer Fuentes. Let’s get all three of you something to drink.”

Together they filled the dog’s water bowls and watched them make a mess for a moment. When the tile was thoroughly soaked, Keith pointed to a little sunroom off the kitchen. It was appointed as a breakfast nook, due in part to the huge bay window that looked out over the garden and its main fountain. The glass table in the center was pre-set for four, as usual, with the same vase of flowers that had been filled with a fresh bouquet every day since Keith was a kid. Unlike most every day, however, the table and its show of silverware would actually see use by more than just Keith alone.

“Here, have a seat.” Keith said, turning back to the kitchen. “Can I get you something to -” 

Celia interrupted him, bustling in from the walk-in pantry. “Ah-ah! Out of my kitchen. Both of you have a seat.” 

Keith made a face but sat obediently across from Lance while Celia brought them a glass bottle of water and a bottle of Perrier. She held them both up to Lance with a smile. “Do you prefer still or sparkling, Mr. Fuentes? Just to start.” 

“Uh. Water’s fine. Thanks.” He shifted in the chair, a little wide-eyed and obviously nervous. One leg bounced, vibrating the table. 

Keith gave Celia a pointed look and she filled his glass before nodding and heading back to the kitchen. 

“Hey, relax.” Keith smiled and tentatively knocked his foot against Lance’s leg. “You’re just at my house, not some five-star.” 

“Yeah.” The leg stopped but the jitters moved to his fingers as they tapped against the glass. “Your mom is pretty nice.”

Keith frowned, puzzled. “My m...oh! That’s not my mom. That’s Celia, our housekeeper. And yes, she is nice.” 

There was a pause of silence, during which Keith could hear the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the next room, which may or may not have been louder than his own heartbeat.

Keith toyed with his napkin, twisting it into a point. “So, um...did you know this was my house before today?”

Lance nodded, eyeing the stemmed crystal glass like it was going to break if he touched it. "We get a run down of all the houses we're assigned. We're expected to know the dogs and dogs’ parents’ names. Not a lot of Merriweathers in the area, so I had a pretty good guess." 

Keith found himself pouting. “And you didn’t give me a heads-up? I would have at least had on more than my gross boxers.” 

"Aw, you'd dress up for me, but not the other walkers? That's sweet."

Keith fished out an ice cube from his glass and flung at Lance’s face. “Way to dodge the question.” 

Lance ducked, but still got a tiny revenge splash from Keith’s wet fingers. The ice skittered across the tile to get chomped up by Kosmo like the good little vacuum cleaner he was.

Celia interrupted them by bringing in two carefully balanced silver trays. She set one in front of Lance and the other in front of Keith. “Here you are - crab bisque, pecan and strawberry salad, and a caprese panini. Would you care for anything else to drink? The Mistress prefers Orangina or-”

“Celia,” Keith half-whined.

“-since the Madame is gone, Capri Sun.”

Relief flooded Lance’s face. “Oh man, do you have Pacific Cooler? That’s my favorite.”

Keith couldn’t help but break into a laugh. “Mine, too. Celia keeps it hidden for me.”

Celia smirked. “I’ll be right back with your contraband.” 

“Thanks!” Lance called after her, leaning back in his chair.

He hooked one arm over the back as he lounged sideways in it. “I thought you said this wasn’t a fancy restaurant. Not even my mom would do this much for me, and I’m the last one before she develops empty nest syndrome.”

“Well, even if she wasn’t getting paid to do it, I like to think Celia likes me at least a little bit. She pretty much raised me anyway. First job out of high school, and she got stuck with baby-me.” 

Keith took a spoon and sipped at his bisque. Like most of Celia’s food, it was delicious, but like he’d expected when he’d parted ways with his mom that morning, nothing he’d call a favorite. Figured. 

Celia was back shortly after, offering Lance a chilled bag on another platter with a wink. “Your Pacific Cooler, Sir.” 

“Why don’t you sit down and eat with us?” Lance asked, taking the Capri Sun. “I’m sure you’re hungry, too.”

That made her smile and glance over at Keith who sat back and threw his arms up in exasperation. “See? Thank you, Lance!”

Celia patted his shoulder warmly. “That’s very sweet of you, but my break comes after I finish lunch for the rest of the staff. We’ll all eat together then. You two enjoy and let me know if you need anything else.” She bustled out while untying her apron. 

“I’ve been asking her to sit with me for ten years,” Keith said to his lunch. 

“Not once? Even your birthday?” Lance took a tentative bite of bisque and hummed.

Keith winced and looked down. 

They ate in silence for a few seconds, then a chunk of crab plopped into Keith’s soup.

“Sorry. Guess there’s bad things about being rich.” More chunks of crab plopped in, one after the other. “You should come to my house on Sunday, the entire extended family comes over and cooks together. It’s so loud, you’d wish you were back here with your quiet table.”

“That sounds...really nice. I’ve always-” Keith shook his head to dismiss the thought and watched his soup passively. “Are you - do you not like seafood?” 

“I love it. That’s apology crab.”

“Apology…” Keith just shook his head and chuckled, spooning lumps of crab back into Lance’s bowl. “Well, now we’ll just be here all night.” 

“Are you… apologizing for something?” Lance scrunched his face at the soup.

“How about for being a downer? Just eat your soup and drink your very fancy beverage.” 

Lance took a bite of crab, chewing around his words, “You know, you’re not a downer.”

Keith went to work pushing his salad around so it would look like he’d eaten some. “Birthdays - you know what, all holidays - are sort of a sore subject.”

They both sat there sipping soup for a minute before Lance finally asked the thing Keith was praying he wouldn’t. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but, why?”

Keith couldn’t look Lance in the eyes. All of the bitterness souring in his stomach would come through and spoil Lance’s lunch - and besides, he was probably just being polite. 

“...Let’s just say that, as I understand it, typically birthdays are spent with your family and not people who pay to get in because it’s the social event of the season, regardless of whether they even know your name or how old you are.”

Lance put his spoon down with a clink. There was some shuffling but still Keith didn’t dare peek. Maybe they could go back to eating soup and talking about dogs or whatever if he pretended none of this happened. 

“That…” Lance started with a deep sigh. “Is really super shitty. I’m sorry.”

Keith shrugged. “To be honest, I never knew differently, so. It’s what it is. My 18th is coming up, and that’s already got a guest list longer than our AP History book.”

“Hmm. I don’t really know anything about that, but do you know what always cheers me up when shitty thoughts plague me?”

Keith glanced up at him, arching a skeptical eyebrow. “Sleep?”

Lance was leaned over the table, elbows on either side of his soup and a wicked smile on his face. “You play Overwatch, right?” 

That perked him right the fuck up. “Play? I think you mean dominate.” 

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” Lance stood, taking his Capri Sun with him. That was when Keith realized that, while he’d been brooding, Lance had eaten every last scrap of his lunch, including the salad. Damn, could this boy put food away. “I bet you play Mercy don’t you? You look like a Mercy player.” 

“I will fuck you up so bad if you dare say that to my face again.” Keith stood, throwing down his napkin like he was being challenged to a duel. “Get your ass upstairs, Fuentes. I’ll enjoy kicking it all the way back down.” 

-🍋-

It only occurred to Keith that he’d never had anyone his own age in his room right when he put his hand on the door handle. He froze, fingers curled around the brass.

It seemed like a more momentous occasion than it actually was; after all, friends had friends over all the time. Still, Lance was about to be the only person Keith had ever let inside his sanctuary, and he’d barely known the guy for a week. It was just…

“Woah, yeah, nice room. Really like the door part.” Lance leaned to hover over his shoulder and whispered, “How long are we going to stare at it?”

Keith shook himself back to present and, just to make sure he was fully there, gave Lance a little backwards jab. 

“Sorry about the mess,” he mumbled, then opened his door and tried to walk as casually as possible. 

“Thought you were getting cold feet there. I know my skills can be intimidating but-” Lance stopped in the door way despite nagging at Keith. He stared open-mouthed at the room.

Keith frowned at him, shifting his weight self-consciously. Even when his mother inspected his room, he’d never felt so under a microscope. Unlike his mother, though, Lance’s eyes didn’t seem to be on the mess - his cardigan on the back of his chair, the two water glasses on his side table, and the open textbook on his desk. 

Instead, he was going over Keith’s entire room like he was scanning a barcode. Slowly, he dragged his eyes from the canopied king bed on the left to the glass doors to his bathroom suite, passed over the desk pushed against the arch window on the far wall, and finally came to rest on the entryway to his gaming nook on the right.

When Lance still stood there doing nothing but catching flies and blinking Keith prodded, “Um. Everything okay?” 

Lance turned to him in all seriousness. “Where’s the promised mess?”

How could he not see? Keith nodded at his desk. 

“Fuck, if that was my mess my mom would probably give me a raise in allowance.” Lance laughed and finally stepped fully into the room. “Meaning I’d get one.”

“Oh.” Keith didn’t really know what to say to that. God, he was so out of his depth here. “So, all my gaming stuff’s in there, obviously. Do you prefer PC or console? If you want, we can -”

“Holy shit is that VR?” And Lance was already gone through the den and hovering over the set of white headsets.

Keith _hated_ being interrupted. Absolutely fucking _hated_ it. But for whatever reason, when Lance did it, it felt like Minnie jumping for a treat, or Kosmo unable to contain his wagging tail. It was like thoughts and energy just bubbled over, and it was...honestly kind of endearing. 

He found himself smiling as he joined Lance next to the stand.

He bent to the side to try and catch Lance’s eye from where it was glued to one of the Oculus sets. “...Don’t suppose you’d like to change our Overwatch match to a little friendly competition, would you?”

“What kind of competition?”

Keith shrugged. He hadn’t really gotten that far, but _‘competition’_ sounded way better than _‘let’s play together for no real reason._ ’ “Winner owes the other a favor?”

Devious was the only word for what flashed over Lance’s eyes. “You’re on.” He hesitated and bit his lip as he stared at the headset. 

“Scared already?”

Lance scoffed and leaned away, looking anywhere but Keith. “No! I’m just - I don’t know how to use them.”

“Oh, easy.” Keith picked up the headset, eyeing Lance and humming skeptically. “Hmm. Though I’m not sure I’ve got one that’ll fit that big head you’ve got.” 

“If it can fit all that hair, then I’m sure it’ll do fine with my big head.” Lance bent down expectantly. 

Keith found himself smiling as he fit the visor over Lance’s hair. As he did, his fingertips brushed through the very tips of his chestnut curls, and - oh no, they were _ridiculously_ soft. 

Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “How’s that? Comfortable?”

“It's… a lot heavier than I thought it’d be and actually kinda scary.” Lance waved his hands in front of him haphazardly. “I can’t see anything.”

“Well, that is and is not the point, I suppose. Give me just a second and I’ll boot it up. And stop flailing. Here.” He took Lance’s hand and wrapped it around one of the controllers, then repeated the motion, taking an extra moment to ensure his grip was good. Just, you know, squeeze a little. For safety. 

“Woah I can see my hands.” Lance whipped around and stared at Keith through solid plastic. “I can see you. This is so cool.”

“Yes, you’re very perceptive. Now hold still before you hurt yourself. Or me. Or my room.”

Soon Keith had them both set up and logged in. It wasn’t as easy as it was when it was just him, getting Lance to focus was like trying to get a dog to walk when there were squirrels. But soon he had Lance on the VR mat with the game loaded, and he was quick to follow. Hopefully with the mat down, they wouldn’t knock into each other.

About two minutes into the first round, Keith made a very important discovery. Playing video games with people over the internet was not the same experience as playing _with_ someone, there, in his physical space. For one, it obviously made him more aware of his body. He had less space to maneuver, and at first, was so caught up in not touching Lance that he wasn’t playing at his usual caliber. Second, he was laughing a lot more. Shouting, really, as he struggled to keep up while Lance was cracking jokes to distract him.

Things got a lot more competitive once Lance started intentionally bumping into him to throw him off balance. Keith retaliated, and so did Lance, and then it became less about who was actually winning and who could slam their hips into the other harder while still maintaining some kind of score. 

It was the most fun Keith had ever had playing. Usually he was so focused on his score, but now they were just picking the easiest songs so they could have the best chance of throwing the other off. His face hurt from smiling so much and he didn’t even know that was a thing that could happen. 

“You’re going down, K. Watch this.” 

Of course, Keith couldn’t watch it. All he could see was the blocks flying at him as he tried to swat them away while kicking at Lance. But this time when he went to kick, Lance yelped and Keith’s foot slid through the air without resistance. 

Whatever had just happened, Keith’s instincts kicked in and he stepped into Lance’s path, catching him under the arms while still miraculously keeping hold of his controllers. 

“Whoa,” he chuckled, shifting to support Lance with one arm long enough to push up his visor. “You sure I’m the one going down?”

Lance’s hands were clutching Keith’s shoulder and arm. He pushed up the headset over his sweaty forehead. “You saved me.”

He was...really close. From here, Keith could see some of the finer details he’d missed during their first encounter: that Lance’s blue eye had a little circle of grey just before his pupil, that there was a small nick in his left eyebrow, and that the freckles across his nose looked like the constellation Hydra.

“Uh.” Keith swallowed. “All in a day’s work.”

Lance leaned heavily on him as he regained his footing. “Oh wow, you’re real.”

Keith kept him steady, but for the life of him, couldn’t get his brain to communicate with his arms. “Was that a question?”

“I mean.” He swallowed and turned a little green. “I kinda forgot what real life looked like. And, actually, I think I need to lay down.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Keith let Lance stand on his own long enough to put both of their sets back in their chargers, then guided him over to his bed. “Help yourself.”

“Sorry,” Lance said before flopping on the bed. “I feel like I’ve ridden 20 rollercoasters.” 

“Well do me a favor and throw up all over my bed. Then I can get rid of this uglyass bed set.”

“Why would you do that? It’s so soft,” Lance said, holding out the ‘aw’ in soft and rubbing his cheek against the comforter. “Just give it to me if you hate it.”

“No idea how I’d explain that one.” Keith snorted, then didn’t know what else to do with himself, so he flipped his desk chair around to straddle it. “This means I won, right? Since you sabotaged yourself?”

Lance groaned. “Does it have to? Can’t it mean that we tied?”

“You had the higher score, but oh no, that wasn’t _cool_ enough. Had to show off some truly stellar footwork. I mean it. It was...definitely something.”

“Until you ended up cradling me in your arms.”

Despite the heat that brought up his neck, Keith managed to scoff. “Are you kidding? You fell for _me_ first.”

Lance lifted his head to stare over his double chin. “You have a point.” He let it fall again and rolled onto his side. “So what do I owe you, your majesty.”

“Hmmm…” Keith dragged it out to make the sound as sinister as possible. “I don’t know yet. That seems like the kind of thing you wait to de - _oh, fuck._ ”

He’d been looking at Lance, but his eyes had wandered to the digital clock on his nightstand, which very prominently read **6:37 pm.** Anxiety spilled down the back of his neck to the base of his spine, cold as ice water. “Shit. _Shit.”_

Lance sat up, looking back at the clock but obviously confused. "What's wrong?" 

“I’m _dead,_ that’s what!” Keith stood up so fast his chair wobbled, running his fingers through his hair and finding it hopelessly tangled. “I’m supposed to be ready at 7 for a - a thing, and my mom’s - my mom’s gonna kill me, oh my god-” 

"Woah, woah, calm down. You still have a half hour to get ready. I'll get out of your hair and your mom won't even know." 

Keith shook his head, ears buzzing. “No, you don’t get it; this is really important, and if I don’t look the part it reflects on her, and she may not get the Hazels to - to invest - but I don’t _know_ how to fix this -” He gestured to his hair. “Or _this._ ” He waved at his face. “And I have to wear this stupid, tight, godawful, _red_ fucking - fucking _dress,_ and -”

The last part cracked in his throat and he was powerless to stop it. He’d gone the entire day without thinking about what he was going to have to do, but now that the moment was here, the thing loomed in his closet like a monster. He wasn’t even wearing it yet and he could feel his chest tightening and his skin crawling. 

He looked up at Lance, watching him intently from the bed, and the words spilled from his lips like he’d been drowning in them. “It’s a _dress_.”

Lance gaped at him. There wasn't any playful mockery behind it this time; he looked genuinely shocked. Then his mouth closed and a question Keith couldn't understand, or maybe was too panicked to understand, flicked across his face. 

"It has to be a dress?" he finally asked. 

Keith nodded and pointed to the closet, trying to get his breathing under control. 

There was a moment of hesitance, like Lance was asking silent permission. Keith granted it to him by nodding and Lance padded to the closet. When he opened the door, there was no mistaking which dress Keith had meant. 

It hung on the back of the door, bold and scarlet, strapless and cut to his thighs. The pleats of the silky fabric were tailored to fit his body so tightly that he couldn’t even take a deep breath for fear of breaking the seams. Maybe it was just him being melodramatic, but the shine of them and the way they draped reminded him of the inside of a coffin.

“Y’know,” Lance said, voice small as he took the dress down. “This looks almost identical to the red I wore to Junior homecoming.”

Keith blinked at him, trying to fight his way back to neutral so he could pay attention and get his shit under control. “Like, your shirt? Your vest?”

“Well, that’s a complicated question. My ex wanted to match and he insisted on red, right?” Lance held the dress up to himself, rocking back and forth as he played with the skirt. “The problem was I didn’t have anything red and I definitely couldn’t afford a new shirt or rent-a-tux.”

What the hell was Lance on about? Keith didn’t have time for this. But Lance’s voice was soothing and he was still shaky, so all he did was say, “Yeah…?”

“Yeah. It was kind of a disaster. My ex refused to go unless I wore red. But, now, this was back when my sister was still at home before she left for college this year, but _she_ had something red.” Lance flipped the dress around and held it at arms’ length to examine it. “The one she gave me was a little longer though and definitely cheaper. Like that satin fabric that _looks_ like it's made out of plastic.”

Wait. Was he saying…

“You wore your sister’s dress to Homecoming?” Keith asked, feeling the corner of his lips twitch.

“I told you, it's complicated.” Lance nodded to the bathroom. “I’ll tell you while I do your hair.”

Keith frowned, puzzled. While he _what_ now?

“While you what now?”

Lance dramatically turned to the clock. “Are you questioning me while the countdown has started? Hurry, into the bathroom.”

Again, that little twitching at his lips that threatened to make him smile. Keith didn’t argue further. He led the way into the suite, crossing over to the marble vanity and plunking himself down on the cushion in front of it. “Help yourself. You probably know your way around better than I do if you actually know how to style hair.”

“Two sisters and a Marco,” was Lance’s only explanation as he fussed around the vanity. 

“Here.” Keith handed him the brush he usually used. Lance accepted it, took one look at it, and tossed it back down, searching through the top drawer instead. “What’s a Marco?”

“Marco’s my other sibling. They’ve had long hair since, like, they were five or something. I don’t know; I wasn’t alive. But it’s longer than even my mom’s. Aha!” Lance pulled out an unopened packet of bobby-pins. 

That was a lot of information about Lance at once. Several questions bounced around his head, but without the capacity to focus on much more than getting the hell out of the house in zero minutes, Keith would have to process later. “Finish your story.”

“Right.” Lance began to brush his hair and Keith automatically winced. He waited for the pain but the brush never snagged even though he _knew_ there were tangles.

“So my sister lent me _her_ old prom dress which was the _only_ red thing in the entire house, I swear. And we spend all day trying to match it with any shoes in the house that’ll get on my feet while also trying to tame these curls.”

Keith watched him tug at said curls in the mirror, but it was hard to do much when he was trying not to purr from getting his hair brushed. He hummed and Lance seemed to accept the answer.

Lance slipped a headband over his bangs, pushing them back to stand almost straight up and out of his face. “Not like your hair. I’m jealous.” 

“Keep talking. And brushing.”

“Hair brushing is done. Face brushing is next.”

Keith did his best not to sulk, but he must not have done a particularly convincing job from the way Lance chuckled before he picked his story back up.

“So I’m perfect and gorgeous, and honestly, looking way out of his league, when I find him kissing Rolo in the parking lot. Like what the hell, right?” He sat down next to Keith and grabbed the giant case of make up. “Like at least cheat on me _after_ homecoming.”

“Dick.” Keith wrinkled his nose with displeasure, for the turn the story had taken and the appearance of makeup. 

“Very much so. Now, close your eyes.” 

Keith did, but not without one last, displeased huff.

Lance continued his story, his breath ghosting over Keith’s face with every soft word. “But I wasn’t going to waste my pretty red dress and all the work my sister did to turn me into Cinderella. Plus I have the bestest of best friends, so Hunk convinced his girlfriend and Pidge to take us all to IHOP. We spent the whole night drinking coffee and eating nachos in formal wear.”

“Honestly? That sounds like a lot more fun. Way less crowded, and probably much better food.”

"It was pretty fun. I was definitely the best dressed at IHOP, that’s for sure." Lance tilted Keith’s chin up with a finger and rested his pinky on his jaw. 

Keith tried not to jump when a brush touched his eyelid. He failed. “You probably looked better in your dress than I’ll ever look in mine.”

"Do you wanna see?” Lance asked, a little _too_ calm.

“Obviously.”

“Then, I’ll make you a deal." 

Keith couldn’t help but feel like a mouse that had fallen for Lance’s trap. His throat went dry. He did his best to swallow around it, but he still sounded pretty sub-Saharan when he croaked, “What kind of deal?”

Lance laughed softly, tickling the fine hairs on Keith’s face. “I’ll send you a picture if I get one of you, for keeps. A fair trade. Dress for a dress.”

“...You want a picture of me in a dress,” Keith repeated, just to be sure he’d understood. “What for?”

“No, I want a picture of you in _this_ dress as payment for the picture of me in my red dress.” Lance swiped his whole face with a giant brush in big circles. Or at least it felt like his whole face.

The sweet scent of powder filled Keith’s nose and he tried not to sneeze.

Lance was back up and removing the headband but Keith was now faced the wrong way from the mirror so he sat with his eyes closed, enjoying Lance’s fingers as they swept chunks out of his face. Even the bobby pins were gentle as they slid into his hair. It didn’t last nearly as long as he liked.

“There, you’re all done.” Lance turned Keith to face the mirror. “Check it out.”

For a minute, Keith sat there with his eyes closed, scared of what he’d see. It wasn’t even like it was unusual; he’d spent plenty of time being primped and made up in his life. For whatever reason, though, with Lance there to see it? It felt viscerally wrong and embarrassing in a way it hadn’t for a while.

He cracked one eye open, then the other. Blinked them twice. Let out his breath.

He looked...not...terrible? 

It was hard to describe, but whatever Lance had done had actually made his jaw look a little stronger, his brows thicker, and despite the color on his eyes and the curls at the bottom of his sleek side ponytail, he almost looked…

“Wow. I don’t...actually hate this.”

Lance grinned. “Yeah? That’s a big compliment coming from you, I think.”

“It really is.” Keith turned to him with a grateful little smile. “Thanks, Lance.”

“Any time. Actually not really, how about only in emergencies?”

“Deal.”

“I’ll let you get dressed. I should go home anyway. We only got five minutes before we’re caught.”

Keith nodded, then offered, “Um, I’m probably gonna have to owe you a picture. As long as you’re not gonna blackmail me or whatever.”

“Pretty sure a picture of me in a prom dress is better blackmail material.” Lance snorted and shook his head. “I gotta get home before my mom gets off work. If you get put in Versace jail because of my wannabe hair stylist attempt, don’t blame me.”

“You’ll be my one phone call.” 

“Good luck with that. You don’t have my number.”

Keith fished in his shorts pocket and tossed Lance his phone. “Help yourself. I gotta move. Thanks again - for, you know, all this.”

“What are friends for?” Lance fiddled with both their phones as Keith steeled himself. It was time to actually get into the damn coffin dress. 

Halfway through shimmying into the dress, Keith heard his bedroom door shut and the barking of the dogs as Lance left. He was too busy squirming his feet into heels and jabbing earrings in to think too much about it, but there was a weird feeling in his stomach as silence fell around the house again. 

It probably wasn’t, because it would be stupid if it _was,_ but it felt an awful lot like disappointment.

-🍋-

The first thing his mother did upon seeing him was wince. She quickly covered it with a wide smile since they were, of course, surrounded by polite company. 

“Hello, darling,” she said sweetly. “Don’t you look...different.” 

Keith smiled back at her, all innocent eyelashes. “Do you like it? I saw it in one of those Vogue magazines you’re always reading and thought I’d give it a try.”

And how could she say anything else? Kimberly just steeled her face and hummed through her white, white teeth. “You remember Mr. and Mrs. Hazel?” 

Versace jail avoided.

All polite breeding, Keith held his hand out to Mr. Hazel, who bent to kiss it, making Keith fight hard not to wrinkle his nose. “Of course. So good to see you again.”

“Kira! How you’ve _grown_!” 

And so it always began. 

Keith made the rounds with his mother’s hand on the small of his back, pushing him this way and that to speak to an endless sea of tailored suits and enormous jewelry. After nearly forty minutes of reintroductions and small talk, Keith finally met with a familiar face. 

“Tom,” he greeted, a little surprised. Tom was standing by the bar where his father was laughing and clapping some other man on the back. 

He was sipping soda from a whisky tumbler with the tiny red stirrer straw. When he saw Keith, he swallowed quickly and smiled. 

“Hello, Madame President.” He held out his hand with a grin.

Keith smirked and took it, giving it a firm shake. “I didn’t think your dad was in business with the Hazel Foundation. Are you here for the hors d’oeuvres or also because you had no choice?”

"What does it look like?" He nodded at his dad. "Big donor." 

Keith slid into a stool next to him, fussing with the godforsaken side sash thing on his dress that made sitting nearly impossible. “Exactly where I’d hoped to be spending my Saturday night, that’s for sure.”

Tom held up his glass. "Did you want something to drink?" 

In truth, Keith would love a soda - or probably something stronger if he could get away with it - but with his mom floating around, sugar was out of the question. “Sparkling water? With lime?” 

Tom flagged the bartender and ordered his drink. "Did you hear about Camille and Matt? Probably not, since it happened after service hours yesterday." He nodded as the bartender slid a fizzy crystal glass across the polished countertop. 

“No?” Keith asked carefully. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what his fellow council members were up to, unless it had impacted any of their events - in which case, he was going to kill them. “What happened?” 

"They broke up. Matt said it was a family issue, but Camille said she found him kissing someone else." 

What the hell was he supposed to do with this information? Keith blinked twice and took a sip of his water to stall. “That’s-” _Stupid_. “Too bad?” Damn, it wasn’t meant to come out sounding like a question. 

"That's not the big reveal. It was _who_ he was kissing." 

Okay, well that was slightly more intriguing. Keith took another sip. “Oh…?”

Tom leaned in, whispering into his ear. “Camille said he was kissing that new kid. You know, the one you were showing around.”

“ _What?”_ Keith choked on his water and had to fight to swallow it down. Belatedly grabbing a napkin to pat his lips, Keith tried to settle his expression. “That’s impossible.” 

“Heard it from Camille myself. Apparently there was no mistaking it; she said, and I’m quoting here, she ‘could smell the poor from a mile away.’”

Crossing his arms, Keith made sure his disapproval was written all over his face. “What the f-” He swallowed that down and tried again. “That is _completely_ uncalled for. Is that really how everyone is talking about him?” 

“It was just a joke, no one actually means it.” Tom shrugged. “The point _is,_ either Camille is lying, Matt has a lot more family problems than he’s letting on, _or_ that new kid is, you know-” He let his wrist go limp, “-and attacked Matt.”

“Okay, well, one: those two things are not correlative, and two: if it’s a joke, it’s not funny and there’s no reason for anyone to be cruel. Three, that’s not like Lance at all.” Keith wasn’t even pretending to be tolerant about this. A week ago, he realized he would have faked a laugh and brushed it off to save face.

The thought of doing so now made him squeamish. 

“You never were one for gossip. I respect that,” Tom soothed. “I hear you’re tutoring him. That’s really cool of you, but be careful not to get too mixed up in this. You know how Matt’s father is and his mother is worse. You’ll want to be as far away from that mess as possible.”

Keith almost ran his hand through his hair before he remembered that would dislodge Lance’s hard work. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?” he asked aloud, almost philosophically.

“The drama?” Tom shrugged. “Comes with the territory, I guess.” 

There was a moment where they both sipped at their very non-alcoholic drinks in silence. Keith found himself eyeing Tom from the side, analyzing him in a way he’d never done before. Tom’s eyes were blue and his hair was blonde. He was conventionally handsome and dressed well; so well, in fact, that he looked like a PR ad for how to dress a teenage son. 

Basically, he looked fine, Keith supposed. Really no different than when they were at school. Honestly, they all looked the same no matter what, styled like they were dolls their parents wanted to show off to each other.

He bet Lance wasn’t, though. What kind of clothes did Lance wear when he picked them himself? Keith had only seen him in his school uniform and, earlier that day, his dog walker polo. He probably wouldn’t look half as ready to be slapped onto a _Forbes’_ cover with his tangle of curls and untucked shirts. Did he lounge in gym shorts at home? Or maybe he had a favorite pair of jeans, washed to within an inch of their life, faded and incredibly soft. Keith hoped he wore tank tops, something that showed off all that brown, freckly skin, and the line of his neck where - 

“You know,” Tom’s voice cut across his thoughts. “I bet I could get us out of here if you wanted. There’s a little playground inside the courtyard with a swing set. I could pretend to be showing you our new pipeline model in the lobby, then it’s a quick left and out the doors into some fresh air.”

Keith considered that. It wasn’t as if he was enjoying the party or the conversation with anyone else, and some air did sound nice. 

“Sure,” he said, standing and abandoning his water. “I’ve probably bought myself at least twenty minutes of being scarce before my mother wants me to do another round.” 

Tom’s glass joined his. “C’mon. It’s a pretty cool model, the pipeline is going to cut out 100s of miles of travel and we can finally retire those old ones.”

“Interesting,” Keith said mildly, and while Tom talked and escorted them out of the main room, he wondered why it bothered him to lie so casually. He’d spent his entire life learning how to speak in code, and it itched in a way it never had before. Like his fucking shoes. Like this fucking dress. 

He listened as Tom showed off the model, nodded where appropriate, asked questions to make sure Tom felt knowledgeable and important - one of the first rules his mother had taught him. 

_“One day,”_ she’d said, _“You’re going to have to learn what to say to keep your man happy. All men want to hear about is how great you think they are, how powerful they are, how this and that they are in your eyes. Of course, you don’t have to mean it, darling. You just need to make them believe that you do.”_

He wondered how many other 17-year olds were wearing cocktail gowns, listening to other 17-year olds talking about improvements in the petroleum industry as if they knew shit about anything. 

He wondered what Lance was doing. 

It would be nice to text him. They could laugh about the whole thing. He knew Lance would laugh, after he was done rolling his eyes and ranting. That would make Keith laugh, too. 

“That’s what I think, anyway,” Tom finished, holding the French doors open that led to the pool with its sequential lionhead fountains and neat shrubs. The fresh air and smell of chlorine did make Keith feel a little better, so he gave Tom a nod and a smile. 

Tom led them past the pool to the side gate, which meandered down a small pebbled pathway to a playground that never saw much use. Keith had been coming to this clubhouse since he was small, accompanying his mother to endless functions, and never once had he actually been allowed to go play on it. Come to think of it, he’d never seen other children on the equipment either. Maybe it, like so much of the design of this place, was simply for keeping up appearances. 

He sank down onto a swing and toed off his shoes, scrunching his toes into the sand and sighing happily. “It’s amazing how much of a difference that makes,” he said, for the sake of saying something. 

“It’s always nice to get away.” Tom leaned against the swing set and stared up at the sky. “You know, I think this the first time I’ve ever seen someone sit on this swing set.”

“I was just thinking that.” Keith gave him a wry smile, using his toes to lightly rock himself back and forth. “Not for lack of trying. I did everything I could to worm my way out here when I was little.”

“I almost made it here with Matt once. We should start a service where we sneak some of the little kids out here. It’d be quite lucrative.” 

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Not like we need the money. Just do it so the next generation doesn’t have to suffer the way we did. I’ve never even put my feet in that pool.”

Tom cocked his head. “I think the only time I’ve ever even walked through those gates was for a promotional photo shoot.”

Oh - that reminded him. Keith owed Lance a picture.

He wasn’t in the habit of taking selfies. Honestly, he avoided even looking in the mirror if he could help it. The lighting here was terrible, and he had no idea what angles were flattering, but…

Keith fished his phone from his clutch and held his camera at some kind of downward angle. That was right, right? Was he supposed to smile? 

Just as he was about to hit the camera button, Tom sat in the swing next to him, pushing it over to grin into the camera. “Get my good side.”

A selfie with _Tom_ was even more awkward. Keith’s smile froze and turned stiff, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He took the picture.

He couldn’t send it to Lance, though. What if he got the wrong idea?

Internally, he frowned at himself. Tom was his friend. Well, sort of. He didn’t dislike Tom, which was about as close as Keith got to having a friend, and people took selfies with their friends all the time. So who cared if Tom was in a picture he intended to send to Lance? 

What was the ‘wrong idea?’

“No, take another one, you gotta smile.” Tom leaned in closer and the smell of his expensive cologne was exactly like his father’s. 

Keith did his best to obey, hoping that would be plenty. He was fairly practiced at smiling on command. 

Tom seemed satisfied with the second picture and let himself swing away. “You should send me that.” 

“Sure,” Keith said, slipping his phone away and trying not to think about sending selfies to _anyone._ He didn’t even think he had Tom’s number. “Nice to have one photo here we didn’t have to spend thirty minutes perfecting, huh?”

“You know…” Tom grinned down, teeth flashing almost too white. “There is one other thing you and I can do here that we’ve never done before.”

Keith stopped rocking himself on the swing and stilled. Tom’s tone of voice had him a little on edge as to what he could be insinuating. 

“...And that is?” He asked cautiously. 

“You’re it.” Tom reached down and tapped him on the shoulder. He skipped away, grinning.

Keith put the breaks on what he _thought_ might happen and caught up to what actually _was._ Tom Elliott-Ford was asking him _to_ _play tag_. Outside the Heron Lake Clubhouse. In a cocktail dress. 

Keith grinned. Well, by all means. 

“You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Keith warned, before hiking up the red fabric and tearing after him.

They wove between the well manicured trees that surrounded the small play area. Tom was fast, but not nearly as agile as Keith. After a few round-a-bouts and sneaky tree reversing, Tom was tagged and the game started all over again.

The grass was soft under Keith’s bare feet and the air was damp from the sprinklers. Tom wasn’t quite as good at catching him, but he was good at popping up unexpectedly. Bastard was quiet, even in his dress shoes.

“You’re not half-bad at this, Ford,” Keith called over his shoulder, using the thin trunk of a sapling to change his direction. “Who would have thought.”

“You kidding? I was Boy Scout tag champion 3 years in a row when I was, like, 7. Of course, you weren't there.” Tom stopped, bent over and huffing. “You would’ve given me a run for my money. Literally.” He grinned up, soft and playful. His shirt was wet with sweat and stuck to his chest. 

“Wow, what an athlete,” Keith drawled, hands on his hips and grinning. He could feel his hair starting to fall out, and he knew he was probably just as rumpled. “They’re going to kill us when we go back in, you know.”

“I have an extra shirt, if I can get to it without getting caught. What about you? Hiding a spare dress anywhere?”

“Alas.” He reached up to pat his hair. “My mother will especially love me coming in with my hair all disheveled.” 

“It did look nice. Sorry it got all messed up, but I think it was worth it. Haven’t had that much fun in a while.” Tom stepped close and inspected his head. “You know, I might have a comb. I promise I don’t have lice.”

Keith looked up at him from between a few messy tendrils. “It’s really that bad, huh?” 

“Yeah, it might be. Whenever you do something, you go hard, even at school. Tag isn’t any different. I like that about you.” 

Well that was...unexpected. Tom rarely offered much in the way of conversation outside of club activities, so to think he had noticed Keith’s habits was. Hm. He wasn’t sure, and neither was the strange seltzer feeling in his stomach. “Thanks.” 

Tom tugged on a limp curl and nodded toward the valet. “Let’s get you a comb and go back inside.”

Keith followed along beside him before having to double back a few feet to retrieve his shoes from the sand under the swingset. “I have to say, it’s a little strange hearing you talk about anything that isn’t budgeting.”

"We never really get to talk outside Student Council meetings and events. Not that I haven't wanted to." Keith thought he heard Tom whisper under his breath, “Or tried.”

The valet didn’t need any identification from Tom. Disheveled as he was, he was still very obviously an Elliot-Ford with the signature Elliot-Ford spun-honey hair. It occurred to Keith that he’d known Tom since they were in kindergarten, knew his family’s investment habits, knew the pedigrees of their horses and dogs, but knew very little about _Tom._ They were easy company at school, but tonight, spending time with him had actually been sort of fun.

Being around Lance, even for such a short time, had made Keith far more aware of the distance his name and position put between him and the other students. 

“Well...maybe we could change that,” Keith offered carefully, watching Tom’s face.

“I’d like that. We could’ve had a lot more fun at these events if we’d done this earlier.”

Keith didn’t really know how to respond to that, but was saved from having to do much when Tom’s family car rolled up. Tom reached into the passenger side glove compartment and came back with a neat metal comb in a flannel pouch.

“Wow,” Keith observed. “I didn’t realize you were about 90 years old.”

“It’s an antique. Family heirloom.” 

“That you keep in your glove compartment?”

Tom laughed and winked. “I’m just pulling your leg. Here, turn around. I’ll take all those little clip things out.”

Keith almost snorted, but it came out an airy laugh at the last second. What would Lance say to see his hard work demeaned and destroyed at the same time? He did turn around and allowed Tom to start picking the bobby pins out, smiling a little at the frustrated grunts he made when one snagged.

Tom’s hands, unlike his book keeping, were clumsy and inefficient - nothing at all like Lance’s confident gentleness and skill. Soon, all the bobby pins were gone and in Keith’s palm. 

“Not bad, you have a cool wave now.”

If he was being honest, Keith was a little sad it was over. He turned to Tom with a relaxed smile. “Thank you. Though now that I’m all sweaty and disgusting, I do miss it off my neck. Think anyone inside will notice if I duck into the bathroom and stand under the hand dryer?” 

“Pretty sure you’ll be in the clear,” Tom chuckled. He shuffled, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the concrete. “Hey, Kira, I’m having a little get together for my birthday, would you like to come? It’s casual, so no tag in cocktail dresses, I promise.” 

“Huh?” Keith blinked, processing. He very rarely received an actual invitation to anything person-to-person, so it took him an awkward moment or two to respond. “I mean - yes, sure. Of course. I’d like that. Your birthday is this Friday, isn’t it?” 

“Yes. We’re having the party on Saturday.” His smile brightened and he abandoned his quest to dig a hole into the sidewalk. “My dad already sent out invitations, but I thought I’d ask you myself.”

His smile made Keith smile. “Sure.”

“Great. Yeah, awesome.” Tom held out his elbow. “Should we return to hell?”

Keith slid his arm into Tom’s. “Let’s get it over with.” 

They parted ways in the lobby and Keith slipped into the restroom with Tom’s comb. He couldn’t do anything close to what Lance had done but he could pin it into a neat bun. Hopefully his mother would think that was good enough. 

Once he’d patched himself up as much as he could, Keith took his phone out and snapped two more pictures. He chose the one where he looked the least miserable, and sent it to -

He snorted. _Beatsaber Champion,_ yeah okay, Lance. 

**Beatsaber Champion (8:28 pm): Wtf what did you do to my creation** **  
** **(8:28 pm): Oh no, did they find out I was a fraud, are y ou in versachie jail?**

It took him a second to parse it out. Something about the text and the loose spelling was like experiencing deja vu.

(8:29 pm): Sorry, they almost caught me and I had to make a run for it. It’s that bad, huh? 

**Beatsaber Champion (8:31 pm): Nooooo not at allllll, nono jkjk you’re v good at buns, looks nice and here**

**[image20240927.jpg]**

Keith smiled down at his phone. 

(8:32 pm): I was right. You do look much better in a dress than me

**Beatsaber Champion (8:33 pm): Shut up, that was 4am I know you’re lying to me, I guess the pact is sealed, we now both have contraband of the other**

(8:33 pm): I’ll treasure it

**Beatsaber Champion (8:33 pm): You better, we’re blood brothers now or smt, there’s no going back**

(8:34 pm): wow. One selfie and there’s no going back, huh? 

**Beatsaber Champion (8:33 pm): Nope. This was the sacrid dress swap of friendship, you’re stuck with me**

(8:35 pm): I guess I can live with that 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to the beautiful art from [eekzley](https://twitter.com/eekzley) and [Pretzellus](https://www.instagram.com/pretzellus/?hl=en)
> 
> Autumn: Lance lives in a very queer world. He has a lot more experience with what it means to be queer, the kinds of identities you can harbor, and the terminology that can be used. Keith has ZERO. He has no one to talk to, no real experience, and is too deeply closeted and afraid to do much searching of his own just yet. This is a slow, unfolding, gradual process. But little by little, his mask is starting to fracture. Wonder whose fault that is :3
> 
> Sail: Is it really a fic that i've written if there isn't someone simping over hair? no. the answer is no. Please look forward to more Lance playing with Keith's hair. This chapter was kinda hard for both of us to write and had to take a break in the middle. we hope if you also went through that that you grab a blanket and some warm drink and have a little cuddle session with a fur baby or a stuffed animal. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for your support - for RTing us, reblogging, liking, and most of all, commenting. It can be a little overwhelming sometimes to think about replying to everything individually, but I need you to know how truly grateful we are to anyone who takes the time just to leave a keyboard smash or a heart. You guys are the fuel in our fire, and we couldn't be luckier to have such awesome readers <3
> 
> Check us both out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> Early access to fics as well as some other nifty links on our [LinkTree](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check us both out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> Art credit to:  
> [eekzley](https://twitter.com/eekzley) and [Pretzellus](https://www.instagram.com/pretzellus/?hl=en)
> 
> We're making a Lamplight zine with Pretz, [check it out here ](https://twitter.com/LamplightZine)

-🍋-

A shrill, repulsive melody jerked Keith awake from the deep, peaceful embrace of sleep. The sun, _ that motherfucker _ , hadn’t yet risen to the brightness of noon, which meant it was  _ way  _ too early to be awake on a Saturday. And what the sweet fuck was that noise? Where was it coming from? 

He slapped a groggy hand around his bedside table until he found the source: his phone. 

Ugh, it was probably his mother checking in from a more forgiving timezone. He swiped the screen open and peered at it. 

**Beatsaber Champion: (9:42 am)** Which one?

Oh. Well. Keith was a lot less annoyed to be woken up by Lance than his mom.

The message was accompanied by a selfie of Lance grinning as he held up two completely identical polo shirts. Keith laughed out loud, short and raspy, grinning as he typed.

  * (9:45 am): The second one, definitely. It’s way more your style, and the first one has been out of season for like a year



**Beatsaber Champion: (9:46 am):** That’s what i was thinking. 2nd one goes better with my eyes  
**(9:46 am)** See you at 1!

  * (9:47 am) Oh yeah, it’s Saturday. See you soon.



Keith had fallen back into a light doze, face first in the pillow, when his phone buzzed again.

**Beatsaber Champion: (11:30 am)** One pup down, tell Kosmo this doesn’t count as cheating

Keith felt the way his mouth turned to spaghetti as he fought against the doofy smile threatening to take over. Lance looked especially good in direct sunlight, and Keith had always had a major soft spot for goldens. 

He saved the photo without thinking twice. 

  * (11:32) Aawww what a handsome boy. 



**Beatsaber Champion: (11:32)** I know I am, but what about the pupper?

  * (11:33) ……ok well played 



The next hour was spent working out, though he’d only intended to go for a little while so he’d have a chance to shower and tidy up before Lance got there. As usual, though, once he’d started, sweating out his anxieties proved to be too cathartic to stop. He only caught the punching bag to keep it from swinging when his phone went off again. 

**Beatsaber Champion: (12:22)** Be there in a bit, gotta finish this and wrap up the paperwork

  * (12:24) Sure see you soon 



Unlike his calm text, Keith was anything but as he bolted for the shower. 

He was dripping but dressed by the time the doorbell rang. Before Celia could react, he was down the stairs and throwing the door open. Lance looked up from his phone as Keith’s pocket vibrated.

“Hey, I just sent you a text, but I guess I can ask you in person.” Lance looked exactly like he did in his selfies, sun-warmed and covered in dog hair.

“Hi,” Keith said, a little breathless. “Ask me what?”

Lance pointed inside with his chin and stared at Keith expectantly.

“Oh.” Keith stepped aside, right in time to be practically bowled over by his dogs, ignoring him entirely in favor of circling Lance with happy tail wags and barks. He’d never seen Minnie stand on two legs and dance for anything but steak before, so the fact that she was doing a little poodle pas de deux with the guy she’d only met once was a huge betrayal. 

“My dogs love you more than me,” Keith sulked. 

“Not me, it’s the treats.” Lance pulled out his bag of treats and balanced one on Terminator’s nose, and then Kosmo’s. He held his fingers up like he was conducting an orchestra. “I was thinking after I’m done with work, we can study French. Go!” He pulled his fingers down and both dogs dropped the treats to the floor and gobbled them up. 

“What the fuck,” Keith said to no one in particular, but to whoever was listening, they should know damn well that this was puppy mutiny. 

Then Lance’s words caught up with him, like a train caboose bumping into the cars ahead. Lance wanted to hang out again. Even if it was just to study, Keith could still feel the giddy little bubble that reminded him that he and Lance were actually pretty much officially, like, friends now.

“Yeah, sure,” he said with a smile bigger than was warranted by vocabulary review. 

“Sweet. With your help, I’m going to kick that test’s b-u-t-t.” 

“...Butt?”

Lance bent to cover Kosmo’s ears. “Don’t say bad words in front of children.”

“Oh my god.” Rolling his eyes, Keith put his fists on his hips and stared at Lance in exasperation. “You can’t sit here and make me look  _ worse  _ just so they like you even more. Push it, and you’re on your own for French.”

Pressing his face next to Kosmo’s so that they were cheek to cheek, Lance pouted up at Keith. “You can’t say no to us.” Kosmo couldn’t turn his head but he still managed to lick Lance’s nose.

Keith scoffed and gave his shoulder a nudge with his foot, hoping to throw him off balance. It only served to make Lance hold on tighter to Kosmo.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Lance stood and began leashing the dogs. “We’ll be back before you know it. Say bye-bye to Kira.” Lance lowered his voice to speak for the dogs, “Bye-bye, Kira.”

Lance had his hand on the door handle before Keith blurted, “Wait. Um. Do you mind...is it okay if I...come along?”

“Come along? On...the dog walk that you pay me to do for you?”

“...Yes?”

Lance shrugged and held out both leashes. “Which one do you want?”

Keith accepted Kosmo’s leash without hesitation, internally apologizing to Minnie for playing favorites just a teeny tiny smidge. “This big boy and I haven’t gotten to walk together in months.”

Lance grinned, starting them off in the direction of the dog park. “I think it's cute that you want to spend more time with your dogs. Sometimes I wonder if these people even like their dogs.”

“You and me both. But Kosmo was the first thing I really felt like I earned,” Keith explained, smiling despite himself as he watched the big bushy tail in front of him wagging in earnest. “Mom didn’t want a dog. So, the deal was that I had to make it all the way through Girl Scouts, and then I could pick any dog I wanted as long as he was pedigreed. So I sucked it up and toughed it out and got him when he was 7 weeks old. Sold so many goddamn cookies to get this boy.”

“Then Min-min isn’t yours?”

“Oh, she’s mine, alright. Mom got her for me so we’d have a ‘real showdog.’ Joke was on her. Minnie peed in, like, all her best shoes.”

“Holy shit.” Lance whistled low, making Terminator look up at him. “You’re a little criminal.” Terminator yipped happily.

“Wow. I can’t say ‘butt’ but you can say ‘shit’ in front of them.” 

Lance slapped a hand over his mouth in horror. 

Chuckling, Keith looped the leash around his wrist to keep Kosmo from investigating someone’s open trash. “Do you have a dog?”

“Nah. There’s a reason I walk dogs instead of checking customers out at Wal-Mart; it's the closest I can get to having a pet. So I’m pretty f-ing jealous, not gonna lie.” Lance turned and the dog park came into view. “I’m so tempted to just run away with one every day.”

“You can borrow mine whenever you want.”

“I do. For a price.” Lance elbowed him and pointed to a tree. “That’s their favorite spot. Plus, it's really great for pictures. Always get the best tips since it looks so green.”

Keith couldn’t help but smile, thinking once again of Lance cuddling dogs, holding his phone up and smiling into the lens. “Alright, then. Let’s get some front page shots of my babies.”

Lance wasn’t lying about the pictures; apparently his company required him to send pictures and videos for every dog, which explained why Keith got the overflow. 

After Lance had run around with them for a while, chasing both dogs, being chased, and generally looking like a goofy gazelle as he did, he finally joined Keith by the Picture Tree with two smiley puppies on either side of him. 

“Do you wanna play fetch?” Lance huffed, already shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Keith smirked up at him playfully. “If you want  _ me _ to chase after that nasty, slimy thing for you, you’d better have something better to offer me than beef chunks.” 

Lance laughed and plopped down next to him. “I meant did  _ you _ wanna throw the ball, but if you wanna run after it, I’m happy to throw it for you. Though I might have to charge more.”

“Then you can send a picture to my mom. She’ll just love that.” 

“I’m pretty sure I’d get fired.” Lance scratched Terminator behind the ears as he leaned back against their shared tree. “And honestly, I can’t go back to retail after spending my days with puppers.”

Sighing, Keith gave Minnie’s tail a little tug, smiling as she growled at him. “I know this sounds like a kind of a shitty thing to say to my dog walker, but I wish I could be one, too.”

“Hold up.” Lance gave him a side eye. “You live a cushy life where you don't even have to walk your own dogs and you wish you had to work instead of,  _ oh, I don’t know _ , studying for college.”

Keith’s smile turned rueful. “I told you it sounded shitty. I know I’m spoiled and it’s not something I should take for granted. It would just be nice to...I don’t know, do something for myself for a change.” 

“Yeah?” Lance’s skeptical eyes turned soft and he scooted closer. Terminator whined in protest and settled herself onto Keith’s lap instead. “If you could, what exactly would you do for yourself?”

“Hmm.” Sitting back, Keith squinted up at the sun through the dappled canopy - anything to avoid looking directly at Lance’s earnest eyes. “How about...I tell you one, you tell me one?”

“Me?” Lance scoffed. “I’m not a rich kid though.”

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t stuff you wanna do in life.”

Lance hummed, picking at the grass. “You go first, then.”

“Hmm…” Keith stretched his legs out in front of him. “I want to go hang gliding.”

"Start big, why don'tcha. Okay, um, I wanna climb the Grand Canyon." 

“Oh nice, that’s where I want to hang glide. Not sure if they’d let you. But if I glide down, you can just carry me up. Win-win.”

"Deal." Lance joined the staring competition with the canopy. "Your turn." 

“I…” Keith drew the word out as he thought. “Want to try knife throwing.”

Lance whipped around, mouth open. "Like, at people, with real knives?" 

Keith shrugged. “Well, yeah. I mean, not at first. I mean - yes real knives, no real people. I just think it’d be therapeutic.”

_ Therapeutic,  _ Lance mouthed. “You would.”

The little pebble Keith threw at him bounced off his arm. 

“Well, if we’re talking therapy, then I’d want to live by the ocean. If I get into the college I want, there’s a beach right there and I can surf every day.”

“That sounds really nice. I should’ve known you’d be a surfer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re just, you know, chill...and all...sunshiney.”

Lance snort-laughed, then blushed as he ducked to hide his face. “Thanks, I think.”

_ Aww. _ Keith inwardly smiled. So, Lance could dish it out, but he sure couldn’t take it. He’d have to file that away for later; the pink tinge on Lance’s cheeks was too cute not to see again. 

“Okay,” Keith said. Then hedged, “Okay, don’t laugh, but I really want to try Taco Bell. It always looks so good in the ads.” 

Lance snorted harder, covering his face with his hands. He burst out into giggles, falling over into the grass and disturbing Terminator into a huff.

Now it was Keith’s turn to color. He grabbed his dog and curled around her as he glared at Lance. “ _ Wow,  _ asshole. What did I just say?”

“Sorry, sorry, it's just. Out of all the places?” Lance tried to calm himself down but it didn’t help that he was wiping away tears as he grinned up at Keith. “Dude, I could take you there right now. You don’t have to waste a wish on it.”

Oh. That...hadn’t occurred to Keith. He was out, without anyone to tell him no, with a friend to make it all feel normal. 

So, why was he suddenly nervous? 

“But I don’t know what I’d get. I haven’t even seen their entire menu. What about the dogs? How far away is it? I don’t want to take too long ordering and look dumb…”

“Woah, woah, woah. Here, since it's your first time, it's my treat. As long as you’re okay with tacos?” 

“No way; it’s my turn. If we are going, then it’s going to be on me. That’s the deal.”

Lance stood, brushed off his pants, and held out his hand. “Deal. Take me out to tacos.”

-🍋-

It wasn’t as if Keith was totally ignorant to the way fast food worked, but it was still ridiculous how twitchy and out of place he felt as soon as they’d walked through the front doors. He knew better,  _ of course _ he did, but he couldn’t help feeling as if every security camera had a direct feed to his mother, or that the guy wiping down tables was actually a spy, or something equally stupid. The worst that might happen if his mom found out he’d snuck out for Taco Bell, honestly, was that he’d be grounded, and it wasn’t as if he had much to be grounded from in the first place. He should probably just relax. It was  _ Taco Bell. _

It was  _ fine _ . 

He still had to stuff his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out to hold Lance’s. 

They brought the dogs inside with them, despite the sign that clearly said NO DOGS ALLOWED. The table-wiping guy took one look at them, blinked, and went back to slowly drawing the same circle with a tattered old rag. 

“You’re taking point this time,” Keith informed Lance from where he was standing, which was slightly behind Lance and hovering somewhere near his shoulder as he read the menu above the counter. “No more leaving me to my own devices. Pick stuff that doesn’t suck. And make it enough that they will actually break a bill this time. Oh, also soda. Make sure there’s soda.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to do the ordering?” 

Keith nodded, giving him a little shove forward when he realized Lance couldn’t see him. 

The girl at the register did not look impressed - with them, with their dogs, with her job, or with life in general. She stared at them with expressionless, heavily-lined eyes, and popped her gum.

“Can I help you,” she deadpanned. 

With both hands, Lance held up his fingers one by one as if he were counting things off and mumbled to himself. Just as she was about to ask again, Lance blurted, “Five, no - six. Six tacos and two cinnamon twists. Crunchy tacos.” He held up two more, seemingly random fingers in succession. “Two large drinks and a freeze, red.” 

“Is that all?”

“A bean burrito, extra red sauce,” Lance finished with one last raised finger.

“And will that be -” 

“Wait - make it two.” 

Keith peered at his hands and then up at Lance. “What are you even counting?”

The cashier sat silently as Lance smiled and waved at Keith with his two-handed five-fingered checklist. “Nothing. Just gotta make sure we don’t miss anything, right?”

“Heh. Right.” Keith sidled around him to hand over his bill, not bothering to check the receipt. The girl took it and cashed him out so quickly, it was like she could do it in her sleep. Maybe she was currently asleep. It was hard to tell. 

Pocketing his change, he stepped to the side to wait with Lance, feeling a little thrill of adrenaline for doing something he was definitely not supposed to be doing. 

“I feel like a criminal,” he admitted with a little smile. 

“Order 12!”

Lance grabbed their tray and handed Keith the cups. “Why don’t you get us soda while I find us a place to eat our contraband, little delinquent?” Then he was off with the dogs, abandoning Keith to the soda fountain.

That was a lot of responsibility. There were like...at least twelve options up there. 

Keith took the cups and stood in front of the fountain, weighing each choice. Pepsi was probably safe. That was, like, popular, right? He had no idea what ‘Baja Blast’ was, but it was a nice, friendly teal sort of color, so that came, too. If Lance didn’t like them, he could get his own damn soda. 

Lance had settled into a booth in the corner with the dogs tucked under the table, and,  _ oh _ . Right. Keith was going to sit in a booth. He’d seen them through the windows, but they were even tackier in person. Sliding in, he bounced once or twice on the plastic and grinned at Lance.

“This is so uncomfortable,” he said, delighted. 

"I'm pretty sure you just summed up the entire experience of eating at Taco Bell." Lance dropped a handful of sauce packets in front of him. 

“Aww.” Keith held up a bright red packet that said ‘FIRE,’ and below that, ‘You’re just my type.’ “Look, mine’s flirting with me.”

Chuckling to himself, Lance sorted through his own pile. “Better not get too attached, because they all flirt with you, and then you can’t eat any of them.” He slid one off the table and stashed it in his pocket. 

Shrugging, Keith ripped the packet open right down the middle so that little red dots speckled the paper of his first taco. “Oops. Well, generally, this is how I deal with flirting anyway.”

Lance stared wide-eyed at the sauce-blood splatters, swallowed, and fumbled for his cup. “Cool,” he said, washing down the word with a gulp of Baja Blast.

“...If your name is James,” Keith finished with a smirk, chin resting in his palm. 

Lance choked on his blast, covering the spray with his hand. He coughed, hitting his chest while trying to clean up the mess he’d made.

Keith laughed, passing him a few extra napkins as he unwrapped his taco.

It looked like it had been hastily thrown together with zero thought for presentation whatsoever. 

He’d never seen anything so beautiful. 

“To contraband.” Lance held up his taco, face still red from choking or embarrassment. Maybe both. 

Happily, Keith tapped his taco to Lance’s. “To making dreams come true.” Then he bit in.

His eyes fluttered closed as he chewed. With his mouth still full, he mumbled, “I love Taco Bell.”

“You haven't even swallowed yet.” Lance crunched into his and sprayed taco shell when he added, “Most people start to hate the experience after they go home.”

“Worth it.” Keith finished that bite and then another three, not giving any shits that he was making as much of a mess as Lance. 

They made their way through two tacos and a burrito before Keith remembered there was a third drink. He slid it over, appraising it's unnatural color with excitement. After one sip, he could conclude that it tasted as artificial as it looked, and he wanted twenty of them.

“It’s like drinking a crayon,” he sighed happily around the straw. “This is the best day of my life. Besides maybe ice cream.”

Lance took Keith’s soda, trading him for the Baja Blast. “That doesn’t actually sound good, but  _ you _ sure make it look good.”

“Careful,” Keith smirked. “I might think you’re trying to give the fire sauce a run for its money.”

“No one could ever beat the fire sauce,” Lance said, pouting down at the booth.

Keith reached over to pat his hand sympathetically. “Everybody starts somewhere.”

They were quiet through the next taco, though that wasn’t a particularly long time given the way Keith was practically inhaling it, along with the red crayon slushy thing. He had it down to about halfway when he caught Lance watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Whah-” Keith tried, but the straw was suctioned to the tip of his tongue. He popped it off and tried again. “What?”

“You really like this stuff, don’t you? In an un-ironic way.”

The straw was extra big, and lifting it to stab back down, creating craters in the slush, gave him something to look at that wasn’t Lance. “Yeah...I mean, it’s probably at least 50% because I’m not supposed to have it, you know? Makes it taste better.”

Lance’s face pinched until his nose wrinkled. “But why not?” 

Keith sighed. It was bound to happen sooner or later, but he’d been enjoying pretending that everything was normal at that moment. Still. If he and Lance were going to hang out, he probably ought to know. 

“My mom…” He sighed again and leaned back against the booth. “She’s always monitored what I eat. I’m not allowed to have sugar, everything stays healthy and nutritious, balanced proportions, all that good stuff. I can’t afford to gain weight, because weight equals fat and fat equals unattractive.”

He could see the protest building on Lance’s face, but Keith hurried on so he could get it all out at once. Rip the bandaid off and be done. 

“I’m the heir to her company and the Merriweather fortune. I’ve been raised my whole life to be the perfect CEO, and according to mom, I won’t have anyone’s respect if I’m not beautiful on top of being educated and capable. Because I’m a...” 

The drink soured in his mouth and made his tongue tacky. He couldn’t get the word out no matter how he rolled it around, so he just swallowed and went back to stabbing the ice.

“So yeah. No sugar. I weigh in once a week and my menus for the following week are adjusted based on what I weigh. The end.” 

“That’s…” Lance sighed and leaned back. He was staring at his taco as if it would tell him what to say. “That’s really…” He sighed again, bouncing his leg.

Keith smiled. “A lot. I know. You don’t have to, like, come up with anything profound to say. It’s just the way things are and how they’ve always been. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be,” Lance grumbled.

“Maybe not, but.” Keith shrugged. “What am I gonna do? Besides, as long as I’m careful, I can get away with things like this once in a while.”

Keith watched the internal battle war itself across Lance’s face. What he was fighting, Keith wasn’t sure. This definitely didn’t have anything to do with Lance so there was nothing the other boy needed to worry about. All he had to do was accept it as reality just like Keith had. That was just the way of the world he moved in now. 

One of the sides must have won, whatever it was, and Lance finally met his eyes. “Then let's enjoy this to the max.”

It was appreciated, more than Lance probably realized. Keith smiled a little wider and held his taco up in a toast. “To the max.”

“To the max."

-🍋-

Keith couldn’t honestly remember the last time he’d had any sort of anxiety over a French exam. He’d taken his own abilities for granted and barely ever had to review. Now that he was tutoring Lance, however, he felt like he was back in fourth grade again, about to take the stage for the last round at the  _ National Foreign Language Competition _ . His palms were starting to sympathy-sweat.

It was the Monday morning of Lance’s first exam, and Keith was doing his level best not to let his anxiety show. He wasn’t even sure why he cared so much. Maybe just because Lance’s success reflected on Keith as a tutor. 

That was probably all it was.

He flipped through the French I textbook, looking for anything they might need to cram in the last ten minutes before class.

“And you’re good on passé composé?”

“Uh.” Did Lance look a little green? He looked a little green. “J'ai fait du shopping.” The last word came out as almost flat English.

“Good. Okay. And grocery store vocab? Tell me what you need from the store.”

Lance counted off the words on his fingers. “Pomme, banane, um…citron et, uh, lait?”

“Where are your articles?” Keith snapped. “You know you can’t just list a noun without -” 

The Westminster chime overhead interrupted him, signaling that the class had ended and the next would begin soon. Keith sighed, closed the book, and handed it back to Lance. “It’s fine. You’ll be fine.”

“You’re making it sound like I’m not going to be fine.” Lance clutched the book to his chest.

Keith stood from the couch and held a hand out to Lance. “You will. Come on.”

Lance took it and squeezed a little too tightly. “Yeah, sure I will.”

Smirking as he pulled Lance to his feet, Keith gave his hand a little squeeze. “Aww, you want me to hold your hand all the way there?”

“I’m not a baby.” Lance’s fingers loosened but he didn’t pull away.

Keith. Uh... Hadn’t expected Lance to call his bluff that way. Now he didn’t know what to do with himself as he looked at their clasped hands. “No, you’re not. So, be a big boy and come ace that test we worked so hard on.”

He squeezed once more and pulled away to shoulder his bag as an excuse. 

“It’s half spoken, right? So, it shouldn’t be too bad if I remember my articles.”

Keith paused. “No? It’s entirely written. We talked about this.”

“ _ What? _ ” Lance stumbled as they walked. “But the conversational section - We  _ always  _ had an oral test in Spanish.”

“Your oral skills are judged in class participation. There’s an oral exam on the college placement test, but otherwise...just written.”

Lance changed from green to sickly pale as they entered the room. “I thought when you said there wasn’t an oral exam, you meant just - not today. Not...not  _ ever _ .”

Frowning, Keith stopped from where he’d been fishing for his notebook to look at Lance -  _ actually  _ look at him. Beyond just being pale, he was picking at the corner of his textbook where it was fraying as he stared into middlespace with glassy eyes. Keith wasn’t sure he was all there anymore.

“Hey,” Keith said, bending a little to catch his eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re going to be fine. We’ve worked hard and you picked it up fast. Just...take a deep breath.” 

Those bi-colored eyes dragged away from whatever they were looking at inside Lance’s head to focus on Keith. He didn’t take a deep breath, but at least he was more present. “You don’t get it, I can’t-” 

“Bonjour, tout le monde!” Madame Valentine’s cheerful greeting cut off whatever protest Lance was about to make. She bustled in with armfuls of test packets, smiling when she saw the two of them already present. “Happy Exam Day!”

“Who says that?” Keith muttered, just for Lance. 

Lance slumped into his chair, two spaces apart from where they usually sat, dropping his bag on the floor. “A French sadist,” he grumbled, but at least he looked less panicked and more resigned. 

Keith couldn’t think of anything else to say that might help, so he settled for patting Lance on the shoulder and taking his own seat. 

Class was only 45 minutes, but it stretched into infinity when Keith was trying to look like he wasn’t looking at Lance. He finished his own exam with about fifteen minutes to spare, and picked up his book just to have something to do to cover the fact that he was actively trying to analyze every last twitch and sigh and instance of frustrated erasing. 

When it was finally over, Keith all but slammed his book into his bag and crossed the room in about three strides so he could lean in to Lance’s space and mumble, “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” Lance said loud enough for everyone to hear. His curls were pulled into a frizz where he’d tugged at them and he slumped so low when he stood that he was almost Keith’s height.

Keith didn’t answer. He just started walking, trusting that Lance would follow.

He led them down the hallway, down the west staircase, and into the Black Box theater. As usual, it was dark and completely empty, with nothing to disturb them but the hum of the air conditioner. Keith pulled out two chairs and pointed to one. 

“Sit.”

Lance sat, crossing his arms. “What is this, a sudden need to practice Shakespeare or something?”

Keith didn’t dignify his sass with an answer - just rummaged around in his bag to pull out a can of peach Perrier and a container of strawberries. “This is where I come to destress, and you’ve got theater next anyway. Here. Post-test refreshment, courtesy of Celia.”

"...I thought you were going to yell at me."

“What?” Keith paused with his finger under the tab of his can. “Why would I yell at you?”

Lance shrugged and grabbed a strawberry. "You looked ready to murder. Thought you were going to demand Madame Valentine kick me out of French forever." 

The crack-fizzle of his can instantly made Keith feel better before he’d even had a sip. “I always look ready to murder. It’s a Merriweather family trait.” 

Taking a bite of his strawberry, Lance stared at the bitten end while the silence stretched between them. The AC kicked on with a hum and a blast of cold air. Well, Keith thought to himself, this was to help Lance decompress after a test, so if silence was what he needed then silence was what-

“I’m sorry,” Lance interrupted his thoughts. 

Keith hurried to chew his strawberry. “What for?”

“For not telling you.” Lance let his hand and his eyes fall to his lap. “Not telling anyone, actually. If - If I tell you, you can’t snitch on me to your mom or the teachers.”

Now Keith was thoroughly confused. He had no idea where this was going. It had definitely taken a sharp left turn away from generalized test anxiety, that was for sure, but Lance looked really nervous and it made Keith want to do something to help.

On the other hand, whatever he was worried about was apparently enough of a big deal that he didn’t want anyone at Merriweather to know. That meant it was likely the kind of thing that Keith would be honor-bound to report, especially as class president. 

He bit at his lip, tasting the sharp sugar of strawberries lingering on his skin. Then made a decision.

“Okay,” Keith said quietly. “I won’t.”

Lance still didn’t immediately answer. He shifted in his chair and flicked the leaves of his berry. Finally he sighed and mumbled to his lap.

“Come again?”

“I’m dyslexic. I can’t spell, or like, the words get all jumbled in my head. English is hard enough but French is impossible and without an oral test to - to fix my written one.” Lance crumpled in his chair. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“...Oh.”

Honestly, it was all he could think to say at first. Keith had to take a minute to process that. He didn’t have a lot of experience with it, didn’t know any other students who dealt with anything close, and what he did know about it had never seemed like it would be all that impactful. 

Clearly, that was wrong. Lance had been nothing but confident and capable since they’d met, but now he looked like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. It made Keith a little sick to see, though he couldn’t exactly say why. 

If Lance was being honest, though, Keith could meet him halfway.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about dyslexia. Why wouldn’t you have told anyone? Surely there’s someone here who’s...I don’t know, trained in helping people with it? Or that the teachers would understand?”

Lance looked up, disbelief written across his face. It shifted internally and then hardened. “Maybe if you’re rich enough to come here in the first place. I had to win a lottery. Do you really think they’d have accepted me if they knew about all my learning disabilities when they could easily have chosen another kid that didn’t need help? No, my application is immaculate. That was the only way to get a chance.”

And that was... troubling. 

Because in that moment, Keith realized that Lance was completely right. 

He frowned hard at his strawberries. “That’s not right. That...you shouldn’t have to suffer because…” Because of what? Lance had made him promise not to tell anyone, so now Keith was bound to it. That didn’t mean he  _ liked  _ it. “That’s really fucked up.”

“I’ll get through it. I always do.” Lance bit his strawberry in half. “But I didn’t want you expecting me to pass or, like, blaming yourself when I get an F. What was the other language? Maybe there’s still time to transfer.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no?’ French is just too hard, all the letters are silent and random. I’ll just transfer to whatever the other class is and hopefully it’ll be better.”

Keith surprised himself with the vehemence of his answer. “I mean no. I don’t accept that. I’m not going to stand by and watch you just give up. We’ll figure something out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out here, Kira. This is my brain. You can’t just command it to work like yours.”

“I’m not! I’m saying there’s gotta be something we can do to make it easier for you to remember this stuff.” 

Lance eyed him and then sighed. “Look, they let me graduate Jr. High with the idea that there wouldn’t be any more spelling tests so I only have a 7th grade spelling level. I went to a special class for 5 years to get me there. Not to be mean but, what do you think you can do that professionals couldn’t?”

“I don’t know…” Lance had a point, but that didn’t mean Keith had to  _ like  _ it. He crossed his arms and glared at the black carpet as he thought. “... _ Yet _ .”

A moment went by and then another. Keith shifted in the uncomfortably silent atmosphere as doubt seeped into him. He opened his mouth to fill it when Lance beat him to it with a snicker. Whipping his head up, he found Lance chuckling behind his hand.

“Oh my god, you don’t have to be so serious. Okay, okay.” Lance chucked a strawberry at him. “Let’s try.”

Keith kicked it back. “This is your education we’re talking about, of course I’m being serious.” 

Lance grinned and looked lighter than he had all day. Keith had almost forgotten what Lance looked like when he was relaxed.

“Thanks, dude. You’re really cute when you’re serious like this.”

In about point-two seconds flat, Keith knew his face had turned as red as the stupid strawberry lying dejected on the floor. He didn’t know what else to do with that sentence, or with himself, so he punched Lance in the arm. Lightly.

“Shut up.”

Lance laughed harder. “Cute, for sure.”

“Get your own strawberries next time,” Keith muttered, shoving the container into Lance’s hands and slinging his bag on. “Hope Mr. Smythe sweats on you.” 

Keith could still hear Lance laughing as he took the stairs back up two at a time.

-🍋-

He was waiting for Lance by the front door of the auditorium as soon as the fourth period let out. At first, he’d tried to casually lean against the wall, but they were so choked with posters advertising Homecoming that there wasn’t really anywhere to rest. Then he’d tried just putting his hands in his pockets; that was casual, right? He’d decided against it once he’d realized his shoulders were all hunched up, and eventually he resigned himself to just awkwardly standing by the door. 

The other theater students chatted and laughed as they filed out - until they noticed Keith standing there, of course. Without fail, they all snapped their mouths closed and greeted Keith with a stiff, polite smile and a bland, “Madame President.” 

Keith grit his teeth in what he hoped was an approximation of a smile, bouncing on his toes as he waited for Lance to stop taking his sweet-ass time. 

Of course, he was the last one out, but it was worth the wait when his face lit up as he spotted Keith. It was like being cast in a spotlight after everyone had passed him over, and his chest ached from the unusual thunder within. 

“Yo!” Lance jogged up to him. “I didn’t know I’d get to see you here. You decided to walk me to lunch?”

“I guess, but I want to go somewhere more private this time.”

“Oh?” Lance nodded for Keith to lead the way. “Are we sneaking off campus to get McDonalds this time?”

Keith shook his head and grabbed Lance by the wrist, tugging his slow ass along, because this was  _ serious _ and he was taking  _ forever _ . “No. So, I was doing some research during AP Gov, about your - um - French... Thing. And I found out some interesting stuff and I was thinking maybe we could try some of it out, maybe even make it a habit during study hall if it works, you know? Or replace the way we’ve been doing things during our first period. Either way. Or both, actually, if that’s what it’ll take-”

He cut himself off, dragging Lance through the door to the choir room down the hall. As he’d expected, it was completely empty. Keith set about flipping on lights and setting out chairs as he went on, then started pacing when his hands ran out of things to do. 

“This one study I read - well, I skimmed it, but the abstract was super helpful - anyway, this one study was all about mnemonic devices and how those can be helpful for people with dyslexia, but  _ only  _ if they-”

“If they?” Lance stepped in front of him, cutting off his path.

“Oof,” Keith said, mostly as a knee-jerk reaction. He hadn’t actually run into Lance, but it was hard to talk to him when he was all up in Keith’s business, being so rudely tall. “Okay, sit, and I’ll sum it up.”

“I don’t really understand but I said I’d give you a chance.” Lance sat on the floor right where he was, pulling his bag into his lap. “But if you make me write out the words, I’m leaving.”

Keith spared one quick, annoyed glance at the chairs he had  _ just set up, Lance, what the hell _ \- but decided to cut his losses and knelt on the floor as well. 

“Okay. So basically, it boils down to this: we have to attach the rules to something you really like as a way to remember. You think about the thing you like, and it helps you recall the rule we’ve sort of...like, stuck to it. It’s a lot easier for you to activate learning devices if it’s tied to something you really love and think about anyway.” He cocked his head to the side. “So? Wanna give it a try?”

“Sure.” Lance stretched out side-long on the floor. “If you think it’ll work then I’ll try, but don’t be disappointed when I fail you.”

Keith nudged him with his foot. “That’s a shitty attitude to have when we haven’t even started. Now tell me things you like.”

Lance wiggled out of Keith’s reach. “It’s a perfectly normal attitude when I’ve had to deal with this my whole life.”

Well. Okay. Lance had him there. “Fair. Now answer the question.” 

“There was a question? Oh, right. Things I like.  _ Uh _ ...” Lance stared up at the ceiling, shaking his foot. “Ice cream, dogs, video games, you, sharks, pineapple soda, and  _ um _ , I guess naps.”

Keith hadn’t missed that casual drop in there. Lance liked him. 

( _ Liked _ him _?) _

Liked him. They were friends. That was good.

But they had, y’know, stuff to do. He could angst about that later.

“Alright, let’s unpack this kindergarten essay you just wrote. What kinds of video games?” 

“Mostly Overwatch. Actually only Overwatch. It’s kinda my -  _ uh _ , well, I really like it.” Lance craned his neck to look up at Keith. “Sorry, it’s not much.”

Keith could feel himself light up and sit forward eagerly. “Oh, yeah, I forgot you played! So let’s use that. I’ll actually know what I’m talking about. Let’s start with... maybe list your favorite characters? Or tell me what you like about it?”

“I mean I like everything about it but I really love playing Ana and Widow, also Tracer; they’re my mains.” Lance sat up on his elbows as he talked. “But I haven't been playing them as much because I’ve been doing these sick runs as Mercy with an online friend.”

“Huh.” Keith huffed a laugh as he readjusted his legs to get more comfortable. He sensed they’d be there for a while. “That’s funny. I never play Pharah but lately that’s all I’ve been doing because an online friend of mine plays Mercy. It’s crazy what you can do with those two if you’re with someone good.”

“Right?” Lance sat up fully, scooting closer. “Like if the other person is good you can totally decimate. Support isn’t my favorite but I swear with this other dude, we totally carry the team.”

“ _ Ugh,  _ tell me about it. The other people don’t do shit. They just benefit from the two of us wiping everyone out.” Keith hummed in thought. “Maybe we could try sometime.”

“Sure, but most of my free time goes to playing with Red. Maybe the three of us could team up? I’d feel kinda bad leaving him out.” 

Keith shrugged. “I’ll play with anyone who doesn’t suck.”

Lance bounced in place. “With him, you and your other friend we’d be like, more than halfway to a team. Oh shit, maybe we could even go pro if we practice. We’d only need two more people. Like, you don’t get it, Scarlet Scorpion is seriously good.”

Internally, Keith’s brain hit a pothole. Because. There was no way. Right? That was... _ beyond  _ statistically impossible.

He interrupted whatever Lance had been saying to demand, “Wait go back. Spell that username.”

“Dude, no. I can’t spell, remember? That’s literally why we’re here. I couldn’t spell scorpion if you paid me and plus, he adds all these numbers. There’s no way.”

The words practically tripped over themselves as he burst out with, “Holy fucking shit,  _ you’re  _ BlueLeon!”

“Duh, I just said -  _ wait _ , no I didn’t.” Lance slammed his hand on the ground, eyes going wide. “You?!”

“ _ Me.” _

They stared at each other, wide-eyed and carp-mouthed. Keith had to run it over several times just to wrap his head around the possibility. Once the rusty engine of his brain sputtered back to life, he felt his smile twitch. Then crack. 

Once the giggling started, he couldn’t stop. 

“This whole time,” he said between fits of laughter. Lance toppled in half, holding his stomach. “Oh my god,” he gasped, “This whole fucking time.”

The giggling spilled over into full-on laughter, so consuming he felt tears gathering in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. It even devolved once or twice into a loud, ungraceful snort, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Lance's giggles died down and he grinned at Keith with shining eyes. "Fuck, why didn't you tell me?" 

His fit of laughter had left Keith breathless, and he gave up any fight for dignity and just flopped onto his back next to Lance, grinning at the ceiling. “How the hell was I supposed to know? We didn’t get around to it during apology ice cream, and we haven’t really talked about it since. Oh my god, that means I was literally playing with you to get over being furious at you.” 

"You were furious at me?" Lance paused and held up his hand. "Don't answer that. I know how annoying I am." Lance chuckled as he fell to the floor next to Keith so that their heads were next to each other. From here, he could see up Lance's nose. 

“Well...I mean...yeah. Kinda.” Keith sighed, wiping the tear tracks from his cheeks with the heel of his palm. “I was starting to think we were friends, and then...you know what, it doesn’t matter. I said shitty stuff to you, too. The point is -” 

He turned his head to get his point across, and promptly forgot what the point was. 

Facing each other like this, they were nose to nose - literally. The very tips of them brushed and Keith could feel Lance’s breath on his forehead. 

Lance's lips were eye level and from this close he could see where they were chapped, some of the skin bitten off. Probably from the test. 

Keith didn't dare breathe. He didn't dare  _ move _ . 

Then, Lance blinked and the moment was over. "I can't see you." Lance wiggled away until his whole face came into focus. "That's better."

Sure.  _ Better _ .

What were they doing again? 

Right. Spelling.

“Anyway,” Keith cleared his throat. “We can totally use Overwatch for this. So like…” He held his hand up to block the light, spreading his fingers to give himself something to look at that wasn’t Lance. “You know how Widowmaker has that one line - à la vie, à la mort? That’s a preposition. It means ‘to.’ So, she’ll be our preposition person because you never know where she’s gonna be, right? Where’s Widowmaker? Elle est derrière la porte. She’s behind the door. Ou est-elle maintenant? Elle est sur la branche.”

“Oh.” Lance pointed at Keith’s fingers one by one. “Elle est sur la-” He tapped Keith’s ring finger. “La. That’s Widowmaker.”

“Yep. The preposition is Widowmaker, so we gotta figure out where she is. Ou est Widowmaker? When you play her, where do you go?”

Lance dropped his hand. “On the roofs to kill people, duh. Where else would a sniper be?”

“Sur le toit. Okay. Good. Let me…” Keith stood up and went to fetch his bag, rummaging around to pull out a notebook and pen. He ripped a sheet out and wrote a giant  _ ‘à’ _ on it, then ran to the back of the room, up a few of the chorus risers, and held the sheet in the air. “Alright, sniper, let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Uh.” Lance wrinkled his nose before he caught on. He made a gun with his fingers and shot Keith.

“ _ AAAH _ ,” Keith said, pointedly shaking the page as he died. That was how it was pronounced, after all. “Aaaaaah, à la vie, à la mort, now I am dead.” 

Lance laughed and shook his head. “You really should join drama.”

Encouraged, Keith flipped the sheet of paper over and wrote  **SUR.** He hopped a riser and crossed to the other side of the room, holding it high above his head with a smirk. “Are you  _ sur  _ you can hit me from  _ allll  _ the way over there?”

“Ha! You think you’re so good just because you’re Red? Give me a break, I’m BlueLeon.” Lance hopped up and did a little spin, shooting Keith twice with both hands.  _ “Bang-bang.” _

“Alas, I am dead again, and now I will  _ sur- _ ly fall from  _ on top of  _ this riser.” He slumped to his butt. “See, there I go, no rez for me because you’re Widowmaker right now.” 

“On top, like surely. Sur. Oh, I get it.” Lance’s face lit up and Keith was caught in the spotlight again with all of Lance’s brightness focused on him. 

Time to even the playing field. 

He scribbled out “sur” and wrote  **VERS,** narrowing his eyes with a smirk. “You  _ versus  _ me now, Sharpshooter. I’m coming at you, towards you, and I’m showing no mercy.” 

Lance didn’t have time to do much more than squawk in protest as Keith leapt over the last remaining risers and ran at him.

Lance was quick, dodging between risers and scattered chairs, including the ones Keith had set up for their study session. “Stop! Stop!” Lance hurdled over another set of toppled chairs with those stupidly long legs. “Arrete, s’ils vous plaiiiittttt.”

He was tall, but Keith was fast, and he made up the difference vaulting over the teacher’s desk in the middle of the room. It closed enough of the distance between them that he was able to yank the back of Lance’s shirt and pull him back. He hadn’t had much of a plan beyond  _ catch Lance _ , however, and it showed as they both fell backwards - Keith to his ass and Lance squarely in his lap. 

“I don’t like vers,” Lance said, panting. He let his head fall back onto Keith’s shoulder. “Vers is scary. I almost died.”

“Now who’s being dramatic?” Keith chuckled and moved some of Lance’s hair out of his eyes before he could tell his traitorous hand to keep itself to itself. 

“Being dramatic is warranted when you’re in drama.” Lance was a little sweaty and still breathing hard. He tilted his head to look up at Keith. “You okay? I fell on you pretty hard. Excuse me, I  _ vers’ed  _ backwards on you pretty hard.”

Keith couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than smile, soft and stupid. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good. Because you make a soft chair.” Lance closed his eyes and his body became dead weight. “If this is French study now, I’m not sure I’ll survive.”

“Eventually we’ll have to go to lunch.”

That got Lance to open his eyes. “What’s on the menu today?”

Keith laughed. Lance had been mooching off his lunch practically from day one. It made sense that he was always hungry; he was a teenaged boy who was two-thirds stilts with the metabolism of a thoroughbred. Keith had just accepted that his new reality was that whatever was his was also Lance’s, and he’d simply asked Celia to start packing more. 

“Uh, tabbouleh, I think. Whole wheat pita. Grapes?”

“All I know is grapes. You should tell Celia to pack you a sandwich sometime, that way we can split it.”

Keith laughed again, bucking his hips a little to jostle Lance up. “I’ll tell her. I think she sent you a Capri Sun and one of those brownie things with the dots on them you were reminiscing about last week.” 

“Fuck yeah, cosmic brownies. I haven't had one since elementary.” Lance got up and turned to help Keith stand. “I brought you some more Cuban soda. Abuela visited last week and brought a whole stash.”

“Aw, thanks.” Keith took his hand and allowed himself to be pulled up to his feet. “Enough French for one day. It’s soda and tabbouleh o’clock, and whatever happens on today’s test doesn’t count. I’ll attack you until you can spell French in your sleep.” 

Lance paused, backpack halfway lifted. “Hey, Kira.”

“Hey, what.”

“Why do you care so much? I mean, it doesn’t affect you if I fail.”

Keith paused. 

It didn’t affect him? 

How could it not? He may not like the way things were run around Merriweather all the time, but it was still a school to which his own legacy would be tied. He didn’t like thinking it would just leave someone like Lance in the dust just because he couldn’t afford to come there without scholarship aid. 

And besides...Lance was his friend. Honestly, his first real friend, and not just an acquaintance by proximity or necessity. Of course it affected him. 

The sternness must have shone through Keith’s eyes when he stared hard at Lance, because Lance actually took a step back. “I care because I care about you, and because I care about you, it affects me. Plain and simple.” 

“Oh.” Lance ducked his head, red already rising to his ears. “Thanks then, Scorps. Really.”

“... _ However.  _ I am  _ not  _ going to help if you ever call me that again.”

Lance turned his fully blushing face to Keith. “What? But I call you that all the time.”

Keith huffed. “It sounds like an STD. ‘Oh no, we didn’t use protection, now I’ve got the Scorps.’”

"Why is it scorpion anyway? You don't seem the type to like bugs." 

“I dunno, I think they’re cute. I like their little pinchers. Plus, I’m a Scorpio. Come on, or we’ll miss the rest of break.”

"Woah, no way. Mine is because I'm a Leo and Leon is lion in Spanish, thought it was a cute pun." Lance followed him out, and was he standing a little closer than usual? Their arms brushed now and then as they walked. Part of him wondered - stupidly, chaotically - if Lance was about to reach for his hand.

“Oh,” Keith piped up without thinking. “That’s where the star Regulus is. It’s got surface temperatures that are more than double those of the sun.” 

"How do you know that off the top of your head?" 

Oops. Lance didn’t need a lecture on stars or constellations or space, and Keith felt like a total nerd for just blurting it out. He shook his head with a smile. 

“Just a random trivia fact, I guess. Let’s eat outside today. It’s actually starting to cool off, and I want a break from this tie and jacket.”

Lance didn’t reply, but he did look pretty amused. Keith could feel the little smirk more than he could see it, and he kept his own eyes pointedly forward. If he kept walking and talking, he could fight down his blush, and maybe if he kept pace, they could stay side by side for just a little longer.

-🍋-

The night was deeply quiet. It was too cold now for crickets, and even the wall clock seemed hushed. The only things to exist in that moment were the tapping of his pencil, his dogs breathing softly at his feet, and the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. 

Somewhere deep within 85 BC and the Mithridatic conquest, his phone went off. 

It startled him so badly, he dropped his pencil and half-kicked Kosmo in the side, who protested with a soft  _ whuff.  _ Heart thumping, Keith picked up his phone, wondering what in the hell his mother could possibly want at - 

Oh. 

His breath left in a rush as he smiled at the screen, the contact photo, and Lance’s winking brown eye.

**BlueLeon (9:21 pm):** Yo, you done with dinner?

  * (9:22 pm): ...It’s almost 9:30 so, yeah lol. I’m finishing the History questions. 
  * (9:22 pm): Wait when tf did you change your name in my phone



**BlueLeon (9:23 pm):** Lunch, when I borrowed it. Don’t mind that, I have a question

  * (9:23 pm): Sneaky
  * (9:23 pm): What’s up



**BlueLeon (9:24 pm):** You know lots about astro stuff right? Tell me more about leo

  * (9:25 pm): ...What gave you that impression? I already told you my fun fact.



**BlueLeon (9:25 pm):** Hmmhmmmm sure, so what other fun facts do you got, specifically about me

Keith carried his phone to the bed and flopped back into it, thumbs tapping the glass screen as he thought.

What sort of facts did he mean? There was Lance’s smile, and how Keith could create constellations out of his freckles; the way his nose twitched just before he laughed, and how the sound of it made a room start to glow. More importantly, there was the fact that Lance needed to know none of these facts. Keith himself hadn’t even realized he’d known them until he was asked. 

He began to type.

  * (9:27): Uh, well, it’s the twelfth largest constellation and lies in the N2 quadrant of the Northern Hemisphere. It was seen as a lion before the Greeks, but they specifically associated it with the Nemean lion killed by Hercules. It contains 13 named stars, and has two meteor showers, the brightest of which are the leonids in mid November.
  * (9:27): How was that



**BlueLeon (9:28 pm):** Holy shit I knew it

  * (9:28 pm): If you knew all of that then why bother asking me??



**BlueLeon (9:30 pm):** You’re a star nerd omg, I knew it. What about scorpio? 

  * (9:30 pm): ……
  * (9:30 pm): I have nothing more to say to you 



**BlueLeon (9:31 pm):** Aw c’mon, kira  
**(9:31 pm):** Kiiiiraaa  
**(9:31 pm):** Kira!!!!!  
**(9:32 pm):** Please come back. I think its cute

  * (9:33 pm): ...ugh 



**BlueLeon (9:33 pm):** :3 you’re back! Please I wanna know more about stars

  * (9:33 pm): I feel like what you really want to do is laugh at my nerdiness 



**BlueLeon (9:34 pm):** Are you kidding me? Did you forget my list of likes? Dude, I’m not one to talk. Just...tell me about stars, I need a distraction

  * (9:35): Alright alright. The constellation isn’t called Scorpio, it’s scorpius, which actually means ‘creature with the burning sting.’ Its largest star is Antares, which is a red supergiant and the 16th brightest star



**BlueLeon (9:36 pm):** Sounds like you

  * (9:36 pm): How’s that? 



**BlueLeon (9:39 pm):** “Creature with a burning sting” is basicly the definition of you   
**(9:39 pm):** Also if you were a color you’d be red, scrop

  * (9:40 pm): I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult. But if we’re going with character traits of our constellation/zodiac, I would have known you were a Leo even if you hadn’t told me 



**BlueLeon (9:42 pm):** Is it my show stopping charms? My irresistible personality? My hilariously funny nature?

  * (9:42 pm): The ridiculous ego…



**BlueLeon (9:43 pm):** You like it

He smiled; He’d been caught. 

  * (9:44 pm): Ha ❤️
  * (9:44 pm): Honestly though? Yes. You really are charming and funny and sunshiney. 



**BlueLeon (9:45 pm):** Sunshiney wasn’t in my list

  * (9:45 pm): oops?



**BlueLeon (9:46 pm):** Hmmhmmm  
**(9:46 pm):** Thanks for the distraction, scorps, I needed that

  * (9:47 pm): I told you not to call me that. But you’re welcome. Anything wrong? 



**BlueLeon (9:50 pm):** No, not really…It's just really quiet in my house and the night is loud, if that makes sense. Feels lonely since my mom still isn’t home, it was nice to have someone to talk to that wasn’t my walls, but it’s your bedtime

  * (9:50 pm): No it isn’t. Well, maybe. I haven’t decided if I want to try and get a few hours in or just stay awake, but there’s a meteor shower tonight around 3. 



**BlueLeon (9:51 pm):** AM?? I can’t even get up before 6 

  * (9:51 pm): That’s what the espresso bar is for. But I’m not missing this one, so looks like it’s your bedtime, not mine 



**BlueLeon (9:53 pm):** Would I be able to see it too? 

  * (9:53 pm): Yeah, most likely. It’s supposed to be unusually bright this year so even people in major cities should be able to see a few 



**BlueLeon is typing (9:54 pm):**

( 。。。) 

**BlueLeon is typing (9:57 pm):**

( 。。。) 

( 。。。) 

**BlueLeon is typing (9:59 pm):**

( 。。。) 

  * (10:03 pm): ...You okay?



**BlueLeon (10:04 pm):** Can I watch it with you? 

  * (10:05 pm): Wait. Really?
  * (10:05 pm): You actually want to?
  * (10:05 pm): Like...text through it?



**BlueLeon (10:08 pm):** Yeah, just talk to you while it’s happening so I’m not alone

  * (10:09 pm): Yeah
  * (10:09 pm): Yeah I’d really like that



**BlueLeon (10:10 pm):** Yeah? It’s not weird?

  * (10:10 pm): Not at all. 
  * (10:11 pm): Leos like to have company after all 



**BlueLeon (10:12 pm):** I’d hope that scorpios do too

  * (10:12 pm): Why don’t you look it up? 



**BlueLeon (10:17 pm):** Hmm

  * (10:17 pm) ...What does that mean?



**BlueLeon (10:18 pm):** This says scorpios are assholes

  * (10:18 pm) Check. And? 



**BlueLeon (10:20 pm):** And that they hide their feelings when they like someone 

  * (10:24 pm) ...Check. And? 



**BlueLeon (10:25 pm):** And they are romantics who watch falling stars with their friends at 3am

  * (10:25 pm) That’s very specific 



**BlueLeon (10:26 pm):** It's a very detailed horoscope 

  * (10:27 pm): Apparently. And what does it say about the Leos who ask their friends to watch the falling stars together?



**BlueLeon (10:30 pm):** Wow, it's late, we gotta get to bed, big night ahead of us. Stars to see and all zzzZZZ

  * (10:30 pm) Mmhm ❤️



...

This time the night was alive - clear and cold and trembling with the anticipation of something about to begin. From on the rooftop, there was only one streetlamp to intrude on the vastness of space, but the stars were so bright that the orange halo it cast was just a footnote in the ether. 

From his seat in the open skylight, with his feet on the tiles and his hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea, it felt like the entire world spiraled out from just that point. For this one perfect, quiet moment, it was just Keith, his phone, and the stars. 

Right on cue, his phone buzzed.

**BlueLeon (3:04 am):** Oh god, who invented this time? This is awful. IDK why I let you convince me to do this 

He giggled and watched his breath coalesce over the screen.

**BlueLeon (3:04 am):** Did I miss them? I don’t see anything

  * (3:05 am): Good morning mary sunshine 
  * (3:05 am): They’ll start to peak shortly. You have to let your eyes adjust, and try to widen your field of vision as much as possible. Don’t look at any one spot specifically if you can help it. 



**BlueLeon (3:06 am):** All I can see is the afterimage of my screne and the streetlights I can kinda make out orion...i think

  * (3:06 am): Well that’s fair. Texting doesn’t help, but it definitely makes this less lonely.



**BlueLeon (3:07 am):** Oh, you prob shouldn’t text me then, ah I should’ve thought of this before I asked you

  * (3:07 am): I can still see them just fine and I like this a lot better. Quit worrying.
  * (3:08 am): I’m glad you’re here
  * (3:08 am): Well, you know
  * (3:08 am): As best you can be 



**BlueLeon (3:10 am):** Maybe next time we do this it can be in person

  * (3:10 am): That might involve you sneaking into my house via tree or something. Or vice versa.



**BlueLeon (3:11 am):** Or you could just spend the night

  * (3:12 am): On one condition



**BlueLeon (3:12 am):** Wait I didn’t mean, you know like, I mean, you don’t have to worry like I’m not gonna 

  * (Typing): ( 。。。) 



**BlueLeon (3:14 am):** I just meant like a slumber party you know? 

  * (Typing): ( 。。。) 



**BlueLeon (3:17 am):** No pressure just for fun, we could just hang out, watch movies, eat snacks, that kinda thing

  * (Typing): ( 。。。) 
  * (3:19 pm): If we’re having a sleepover, you’re not braiding my hair. 



**BlueLeon (3:20 am):** :( why not, that’s the whole point of a sleepover

  * (3:21 am): Oh look, this horoscope says Scorpios are naturally allergic to hair styling and makeup of all kinds. What a shame 



**BlueLeon (3:22 am):** Yeah well, it says on this website that Leos will parish if they can’t braid hair, especially hair as pretty as yours

  * (3:24 am): Well Scorpios 
  * (3:24 am): Wait look up. I just saw one
  * (3:25 am): Make a wish 



**BlueLeon (3:26 am):** I still can’t see anything. Also I think this is the big dipper not orion

  * (3:27 am): keep your phone off for a few minutes and let your eyes adjust



**BlueLeon (3:33 am):** It’s too lonely, I’d rather talk to you than look at stars falling

  * (3:33 am): Aw
  * (3:33 am): You can borrow the one I just saw for your wish then. 



**BlueLeon (3:34 am):** You sure? Don’t you need your wish?

  * (3:35 am): I’ll catch the next one 



**BlueLeon (3:37 am):** Then...I wish for my wish to come true

  * (3:37 am): Wow. 
  * (3:37 am): Well I hope so too then 



**BlueLeon (3:38 am):** Yeah? You think it will?

  * (3:39 am): Honest opinion? I think whatever it is you’ll probably make it happen yourself.



**BlueLeon (3:40 am):** That’s what I’m trying to do with this school. I hope it pays off, with your help I think it will. Well you and this star  
**(3:41 am):** But I don’t think I’m alone in that. You’re only going up, star watcher

  * (3:42 am): I’d need way more stars to be who I want to be 



**BlueLeon (3:43 am):** Pretty sure you were born with all the stars you’ll ever need. Your dream can’t be too far away, right?

  * (3:44 am): It’s nice to think so 



**BlueLeon (3:45 am):** Well, what do you wanna be then? I’m trying to get into Oceanography so I can help get the plastic out of the ocean

  * (3:46 am): ...I know it sounds really dumb, but I legitimately would love to be an astronaut
  * (3:46 am): Among other impossible things 
  * (3:47 am): But stargazing with you isn’t such a bad second 



His phone flashed as he snapped a picture: sleep-rumpled but smiling in a faded old baseball tee, saluting the camera with his rocket ship mug. It left the sky kaleidoscopic for the afterburn. 

  * (3:48 am): [image sent]



**BlueLeon (3:50 am):** Cute mug

**(3:50 am):** The cup is nice too

  * (3:51 am): ...Alright I’m a little impressed by that one.



**BlueLeon (3:52 am):** You should be, it's 4am

  * (3:54 am): We better try to get a little more sleep. If I fall asleep at the podium for Friday Meeting, vouch for me 



**BlueLeon (3:55 am):** Always. Night, Star Captain 

  * (3:56 am): ...Sleep well, Co-Pilot.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to the beautiful art from [eekzley](https://twitter.com/eekzley) and [Pretzellus](https://www.instagram.com/pretzellus/?hl=en)
> 
> Autumn: In three chapters, this fic has nearly overtaken some of our other complete fics in terms of hits and that's...wow. Insane. I know I'm kinda being a broken record here but I can't believe how much support this story is getting, that it really seems to resonate with people, and that it's introducing people to the concept of dysphoria who may never have understood it before. That's HUGE. And I'm just. Super humbled. Wow. Please know that we don't always have the capacity to reply to every comment, but your comments still mean SO MUCH to us. 
> 
> Sail: the love for lance in this is turning my ice heart into a puddle, the things you guys notice that i throw in is amazing. like this is all in keith's POV so i have to drop hints here and there for what lance's life is like and you guys are finding every single one of them. the next chapter (ch 5) has a big lance reveal and our beta as well as our pre-readers all said they should've seen it coming and i'm just *touched* i hope you guys love the big lance reveal coming up and that you feel like it fits with his personality 
> 
> also we've been holding onto that lance with a pupper picture for over a year and its gotta be my favorite that eekzley has ever drawn for us, the light on his sunglasses is just *chef kiss* i'm so happy you guys finally get to see it
> 
> Check us both out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> We're making a Lamplight zine with Pretz, [check it out here ](https://twitter.com/LamplightZine)
> 
> Early access to fics as well as some other nifty links on our [LinkTree](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check us both out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> Art credit to:  
> [Pretzellus](https://www.instagram.com/pretzellus/?hl=en)

-🍋-

Keith had a problem. 

Keith wanted to ask Lance out. 

Not...not out like  _ that.  _ To  _ hang out,  _ like friends. Asking to hang out was what normal friends did, right? And they were friends now. Keith and Lance, actual friends - friends who could ask each other to hang out. 

It was honestly a pretty groundbreaking revelation. 

So, Keith inwardly coached himself to go full Lady Macbeth and screw his courage to the sticking place, but the sticking place was his phone, and the courage was actually pushing the buttons. That was a little bit trickier. In the end, it took from the time he woke up until well after dinner for Keith to unlock his phone, stare at it, watch the screen go dark, unlock it again, open Lance’s latest message, type something, panic, erase it, then repeat the cycle twice more before he actually formed a full sentence. 

Keith took a deep breath and hit send.

  * (8:14 pm): Hey you wanna come over for Overwatch or VR tomorrow?



**BlueLeon (8:15 pm):** Duck yeah, let’s do it   
**(8:15 pm)** Duck*  
**(8:15 pm)** Fuck*

Wait. That...meant yes, right? That was a yes. 

Holy shit, Keith had actually done it. He had offered a social invitation to his first actual friend, and the friend had accepted, and wow that felt...really, really good? Actually? 

It was a good thing Lance couldn’t  _ see  _ him as he replied, trying to play it cool in text despite the big, stupid grin on his face. 

  * (8:16 pm): Pff. What time are you free? I’ll tell Celia to cook for two. I think she’s making vegetable lasagna or something 



**BlueLeon (8:17 pm):** Wait tomorrow? As in sat?

  * (8:17 pm): Uh yeah? That’s what I said



**BlueLeon (8:18 pm):** Shit, I can’t, I’m going downtown

Oh.

Right.

That...made sense, sure. Of course, Lance had plans, because  _ of course _ , Lance had other friends. It was easy to forget when they saw each other every day of the week, but before this school year, Lance had led an entire life beyond the gates of Merriweather Academy. 

And logically, his brain knew all of these things; knew it was fine and normal and didn’t really impact the fact that Keith could still be his friend as well. But despite his 17 years of training to squash it down, Keith’s heart often overpowered his head, and his heart said that it hurt, alright? To be braced for rejection, receive acceptance, only to  _ then  _ be rejected…Honestly, it made him want to forget ever asking again. 

He typed and re-typed a response about a dozen times before he gave up, sent ‘Ok’ and snailed in on himself. 

**BlueLeon (8:24 pm):** But I can play a quick game after dinner, as long as it's online 

Briefly, Keith considered lying and saying that he couldn’t because  _ he  _ had plans, but Lance knew better than that. 

Still, he wanted to spare at least a little of his stinging pride. He certainly didn’t want to feel like Lance’s charity case of a friend. 

  * (8:37 pm): I can’t tonight. We’ll try again some other time 



**BlueLeon (8:39 pm):** Sorry 🙏🏽 next week we can try but I'm kinda in the middle of a lot rn

  * (8:41 pm): It’s cool, don’t worry about it



**BlueLeon (8:42 pm):** Thanks man, I'll text you tho

Keith started to type ‘sure,’ then, feeling petty, erased it and shut off his phone. If Lance couldn’t keep him company, there was always AP History. He opened it to the chapter where he’d last been reading, settling in for another weekend floating between video games, naps, and the first Siege of Carthage. 

Simple. Routine.

Just the way he liked things. 

-🍋-

**BlueLeon (11:41 pm):** You still awake star captain? 

Keith blinked away the afterimage from his textbook, rubbing at his eyes to get them to focus on the blurry screen. Why the hell would Lance be texting him now? Despite purposefully ignoring his phone, it hadn’t dinged since Friday. So much for texting. No, Keith wasn’t feeling forgotten at  _ all _ while Lance was off having fun with who even knew; what gave off that impression?

  * (11:43 pm): Yeah I am.



**BlueLeon (11:42 pm):** You shouldn't be ugh, I shouldn’t be. I'm so fucking tired, I wish I had your bed rn

  * (11:44 pm): Did you party too hard or something?



**BlueLeon (11:44 pm):** Man I wish it was a party. Lol unless that’s what we're calling protests now

  * (11:45 pm): Wait.
  * (11:45 pm): Is that where you were? 
  * (11:45 pm): Isn’t that dangerous? 
  * (11:45 pm): Protesting what? 
  * (11:45 pm): Are you okay? 



**BlueLeon (11:46 pm):** Woah, woah, it's fine I'm okay, mostly. The cops showed up but Hunk is a big guy and got us out of there 

A snapshot loaded of Lance somewhere dark with squares of makeup in red and black checkerboarded across his eyes and forehead. The lower half of his face was covered in a bandana emblazoned with a red A. The only reason Keith could recognize him was his mismatched eyes and sweaty curls.

**BlueLeon (11:46 pm):** See? I'm fine.

Keith still felt himself frowning in concern, even with pictorial evidence that Lance had returned unharmed from...whatever the fuck. 

  * (11:47 pm): What is all that for? 



**BlueLeon (11:48 pm):** The new pipeline, you know the one being built by EF Petroleum

EF Petroleum...Tom’s father’s company? Suddenly, Keith recalled the impromptu presentation Tom had tried to give him at the dinner a few weeks back. They were putting in a new pipeline of some variety. Was Lance...protesting against it?

Why?

  * (12:00 am): What’s the matter with it? 



**BlueLeon (12:03 am):** The pipeline? Everything, man. Idk if I have the brain power to explain so late, but the gist is they're cutting through native land, forests, and curving right through the hill

  * (12:04 am): Which hill? Is it a special hill?



**BlueLeon (12:04 am):** The Hill, Rockhill, y’know on the west side

Oh.

_ That  _ Hill.

Keith had never been there, so he had no idea if it actually lived up to its reputation, but everyone knew Rockhill was the sketchy side of town. The houses were ramshackle, bars on every gas station - that sort of thing. If he was honest, he didn’t quite understand the problem.

  * (12:05 am): Oh.



_ Uh. _

  * (12:05 am): Did you
  * (12:05 am): Like
  * (12:06 am): Win? 



**BlueLeon (12:07 am):** Pfft you can’t win a protest, you protest at a protest  
**(12:08 am):** But yeah, I think we made a good point, got the police out here anyways so we got attention and OH! Guess who i met

  * (12:09 am): The future Mr. Fuentes?



**BlueLeon (12:10 am):** Ha, funny. No look!

Another picture. There was Lance for sure, and a few other people with bars and squares across their skin, some really big dude, and-

  * (12:10 am): Holy shit. Is that Melanie? As in, Student Council Secretary, pisses-herself-if-I-look-at-her Melanie? 



**BlueLeon (12:11 am):** :( that’s not nice Mel is cool, plus she can read a mean script

  * (12:11 am): Huh. I can’t even get her to make a phone call to order supplies 



**BlueLeon (12:15 am):** I wouldn’t order your supplies either. Just got home, sure you don’t wanna gimme your bed, I’ll traid you more tacos

  * (12:16 am): You’re welcome to my bed any time you like 



As soon as he’d sent it, Keith realized what that sounded like. Face red and panicking, he hurried to add 

  * (12:16 am): Are you a fan of pink roses? 



**BlueLeon (12:18 am):** Sorry, I was washing my face. Uh, hmmm I prefer red but forget-me-nots are my favorite. Why star captain? Gonna gimme a bouquet 

  * (12:19 am): Well I meant cuz that’s what’s on my bedspread but I guess I’ll file that away for later 



**BlueLeon (12:20 am):** Good. God idk how I’m going to walk dogs tomorrow I gotta get up in 5 hrs, I don’t even have you on my route how will I survive?!?!

  * (12:20 am): Sounds like it’s bedtime for you, Co-Pilot



**BlueLeon (12:21 am):** No it's your bedtime :((

  * (12:22 am): If I go to bed, you’ll just whine about missing me, so how about we both sleep 



**BlueLeon (12:23 am):** Sure

  * (12:23 am): Night 



**BlueLeon (12:34 am):** Hey, Kira? 

  * (12:35 am): ...This isn’t how sleep works, Lance.
  * (12:35 am): What’s up? 



**BlueLeon (12:38 am):** Do you ever think you’re something but then something happens and then maybe you’re not that thing that you thought you were?

Keith blinked at his phone, sleepily trying to comprehend what it was Lance was saying. When he read it a second time, he didn’t have to hesitate to answer.

Because  _ yes _ . Yes, he definitely had experienced that. 

  * (12:38 am): Yeah. I do.
  * (12:39 am): Something on your mind? 



**BlueLeon (12:40 am):** Yeah, for a while actually, I uh  
**(12:40 am):** Only I would pick 1am to do this

  * (12:41 am): Hey, it’s okay. I’m here and listening 



**BlueLeon (12:43 am):** Yeah, okay. So, I’ve been thinking that maybe I’m not as gay as I thought, maybe I’m a little bi

Oh, that...that was  _ not  _ what Keith had been expecting. It also opened a minor floodgate of confusion he’d been holding at bay - relief, confusion, hope, denial,  _ fear _ . He squashed it down, cramming it back into the little box it had sprung from. 

  * (12:44 am): Jeez Melanie must really be one hell of an orator 



**BlueLeon is typing…**

**BlueLeon (12:49 am):** Just wanted to tell you first, night star captain

  * (12:50 am): Hang on a second
  * (12:50 am): I’m sorry, not the time for teasing 
  * (12:51 am): Listen. I don’t think it changes anything about who you are you know? The label probably freaks you out since you’re used to one thing but 
  * (12:52 am): I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s fine. And I’m glad you felt okay telling me 



Keith waited. 

He waited until his screen darkened and then went black. He opened the screen again, and waited some more. There were no new messages, no typing dots, nothing. 

Just silence.

Oh, god - had he said the wrong thing? Was Lance offended? He had only made a joke because Lance liked to laugh things off with jokes. Had that been the wrong thing to do in this situation?

Fuck, it wasn’t as if Keith had any experience with this kind of thing. He’d never had to pep talk someone over anything more serious than a phone call. He was running on instinct here.

And now Lance was mad at him. 

In the morning, Keith coached himself.  _ You’ll make it up to him in the morning. _

But as he tossed and turned and sweated through his sheets, dipping in and out of dreams that were all tinged with nausea and nervous energy, morning had never seemed so far away.

-🍋-

So, maybe it was a dumb idea, but to be honest, it wasn’t as if Keith had a better one.

Celia, in her infinite wisdom and patience, hadn’t questioned why Keith, who had never once done so, would suddenly wish to take a giant thermos of strong coffee out for a walk on a Sunday. He was more or less a cavefish on legs, preferring the dark silence of his gaming nook to the child-laden weekend outdoors, but here he stood: waiting by the Good Photo Tree in the dog park, carrying way too much coffee for a single person.

It was probably really stupid. Who even knew if this was the closest dog park on Lance’s route? More than likely, Keith would just stand there staring, making everyone who passed him uncomfortable, and then he’d just have to walk home with his untouched coffee and probable sunburn. Just because it was getting colder didn’t impact the UV rays that were probably baking him on the spot while he shifted his weight like a jackass and waited for no good -

_ “Ah!” _ A finger in his side shocked him from his thoughts.

“Morning, Kira,” Lance said around a mischievous laugh. “Did you miss me so much you decided to help me tire out Marshmallow?” He stepped into view with a shit-eating grin on his face, and a mean-mugging Shih-tzu growling by his ankles. 

He looked… tired, with dark circles under his eyes and a slouch to his posture that was less gangling ease and more ‘put me to bed, please’.

“Lance,” Keith said, somewhere between a gasp and an admonishment. “What the fuck, you fucking scared me, you dick!”

"I try." 

Marshmallow snarled and latched onto the cuff of Lance’s khakis. He wiggled his leg but Marshmallow wasn't deterred.

"Where're the children?" Lance asked, kneeling down to dislodge the dog. 

Before Lance had even finished his sentence, Keith thrust the coffee thermos into his face. “Here. I just wanted to bring you coffee. And say sorry. And that’s it.”

Lance blinked at the thermos as Marshmallow squirmed and snapped in his hold. "Sorry? What for?" 

“For last night. I’m sorry I made a joke about it; I should have been serious. Anyway - it’s extra strong. And I have creamer and sugar packets in my pocket.” 

Lance took the thermos. "Let me put Marshmallow in the play pen; don't leave." 

Keith watched in a sort of daze as Lance pulled a circle of plastic from his backpack. He released the buckle and it sprang open into a play pen that was all the more insulting for Marshmallow because it wasn’t even all that tall, but he still couldn’t reach the top no matter how much he barked and jumped.

_ Serves you right, asshole, _ Keith thought at him. 

With the dog deposited in his pop-up jail and left to his own devices, Lance turned back and gestured to the base of the photo tree. "Let's sit." 

Keith internally squirmed. That sounded a lot like he was about to get suckered into an uncomfortable conversation about, like, feelings and shit. But he did as he was told and took a seat next to Lance on the grass. 

"First - I'm not mad. I was tired and fell asleep on you. I would've texted back this morning but I overslept. Second, thanks." 

“Oh.” It was all Keith could really think of to say. He felt dumb, thinking back on the sleepless night he’d just spent working himself up until his stomach was in knots. In lieu of an answer, he dug out the baggie of creamer and sugar packets and placed it on the grass between them. “Welcome.”

"I've just been questioning a lot of things recently, and it was nice to be able to tell you." Lance unscrewed the cap and poured the dark coffee into it. "You've kinda been the reason for it, so I thought I'd tell you first. Probably should've waited until after I slept." 

Keith could practically hear his own tired brain slam on the brakes and screech to a halt. He turned to Lance, blinking through his confusion. 

“I - what?”

Lance’s smile was weak and he downed the entire lid of coffee. “Yeah. Like - who the bad guys in the world are, y’know? Before, I would’ve lumped you in with the people we were protesting about last night. But I know better now, I think. Heck, even Mel was there protesting alongside us and she’s one of you. It’s been...hard not just blaming everyone with money. I’m trying to figure out who the real evil is, and I’ve only decided it's definitely not you.”

Oh. By ‘you’re the reason I’m questioning things,’ Keith had thought for a moment that Lance had meant…

But no. As usual, it all came down to money. 

For what seemed like the twentieth time that weekend, Keith felt the internal canary of his hopes get snuffed out into smoke - and what was far more irritating is that he couldn’t even articulate  _ why. _

“I guess I’m not sure what I should say to that.” Keith picked at the grass, snapping one blade off and moving to the next. He hoped it didn’t sound as disappointed to Lance as it did to his own ears. 

Lance passed the cup across the grass. “You don’t have to say anything; you said enough last night and the rest is my own internal struggle. But I was wondering-” He let the words hang between them.

When Keith tasted the slight tang of iron, he realized he’d been biting at the inside of his lip. “Yeah?”

“Did you wanna go? To like, the next one. Mel is coming, and you could meet Hunk. Plus, this company is super bad, you don’t even know. Pure evil, Kira, trust me.”

Keith squeezed his eyes shut, tight enough that he could see colors dancing in the black. 

“Lance.” His voice cracked. He was so tired. “I can’t. EF Petroleum...that’s Tom’s dad’s company. Elliot-Ford.” 

“So?” Lance shrugged. “You’re not an Elliot-Ford, and they’re destroying a whole chunk of forest for this right through Native land. The last pipeline they built leaked into the lake, killing thousands of fish and birds  _ and _ tainting the drinking water for months. Who knows what kind of damage this one will do.”

“I just mean that  _ I  _ can’t go. My mom is business partners with Tom’s dad. They have some kind of deal with the Hazels coming up and - I just -” Lance’s expression made him sigh and run a hand through his hair in frustration, tangling it with grass. “If her only heir was seen at a protest against her biggest partner? Jesus, she’d  _ kill  _ me.”

Lance sat there in silence, studying Keith. He was under that spotlight again, but this time he hated it. It was the kind that made Keith want to shrink into his skin and bury himself under the grass. Finally, Lance took the coffee lid back and poured himself some more. 

“Fine. But I never want to hear you talk shit about Mel again.”

“Okay.”

They were quiet after that, Keith picking miserably at the grass. He didn’t know why it suddenly bothered him. Somewhere, vaguely, he’d known that there were people opposed to Tom’s dad and the stuff he did, but it hadn’t even registered as real. Their families always had opposition. More often than not, Keith hadn’t ever cared enough about any of it to listen. 

But Lance had given up his weekend to go out in person to stand up for that invisible side Keith had ignored. Lost sleep over it. Risked dealing with the cops. All because he believed in something enough to  _ do  _ something about it. 

It made him feel sick. 

Or maybe it was the lack of sleep. And nothing to eat. 

Maybe all of the above. 

Lance sighed and leaned back on his hands. “I feel like we had a fight.”

Keith snorted, but it was more derisive than amused. He wanted to say something like ‘I admire you. I like that you stand up for stuff,’ but also something like ‘You have no idea what it’s like to be me, and you’ll probably end up thinking the same shit about me that you do about Tom’s dad.’ 

Instead, he just said, “Yeah.”

“Still like me?” Lance tapped him with his foot, coming dangerously close to spilling the thermos.

Keith didn’t tap back for once. “I think I should be the one asking that. I can’t...What you did was cool. I really mean it. But I’m never going to be able to do it, too, and I don’t think you actually understand why.”

“Then tell me. I’m listening, and Marshmallow doesn’t mind.”

To his horror, Keith felt his throat constricting and his face heating up. To hide it, he brought his knees up and rested his head in their protective darkness. 

“I’m my mom’s only kid. And the thing is...I don’t doubt she loves me. I know she does. But she also built this huge empire from the ground up and wanted to pass it on. So, she had me. I mean - not  _ just _ for that. Well...probably not just for that.”

He sighed, and it bounced back on his cheeks, warm and scented like coffee. 

“I’m going to be CEO of Merriweather Inc. There’s no other choice. I’ve known that since I was a kid. I’ll go to the school I’m supposed to, graduate, and take over the job I’m supposed to. And eventually, I’ll have to...to marry the kind of guy I’m supposed to. But I think…” His fists tightened. “God, I don’t know. I just. This is how things are, and I can’t do anything about it. The end.” 

“Why don’t you just,  _ not  _ do that? You said she loved you, right? That means she’d love you no matter what, even if you weren't CEO. You could get into Astrophysics or something, follow your dreams. If she’s your mom, she’d want you to be happy.”

“I’m not so sure,” Keith mumbled, “I think it might be contingent. And anyway...I keep thinking that if  _ I  _ take over, if it’s me and not someone worse, maybe I can use what she’s built to do something good in the world, you know? Funnel money where it needs to go. Hell, even just to do things like, oh, actually supporting the theater program at school for a change. The point is - it’s bigger than me and what I might want, and I need to use it. That’s way more important than giving it all up to learn about the stupid stars.”

Lance’s foot tapped against his shoe but didn’t say anything. Keith waited, but he just kept tapping. Finally, he lifted his face from his knees and glared.

“What?”

“Stars aren’t stupid and it’s cool that you’re into them; even if they don’t like, do well on the stockmarket or whatever.”

“Heh.” Keith offered him a weak smile for trying. “Thanks.”

“Not gonna lie, I don’t really get it. Not the way you want me to. The most my mom expects out of me is to not go to jail and I almost disappointed her last night.” He laughed and it was almost as sad as Keith’s own. “I’ll make you a deal. I won’t talk to you about the pipeline if you don’t -”

“No.” 

Keith’s voice surprised them both with its firmness, judging from the look on Lance’s face. “No, that’s not what I want. I told you, I think it’s cool. And I  _ want  _ to know about the stuff you care about, and what makes you happy, and - and all of that. I just...need you to understand why I can’t go, too. And I’m afraid that, after a while, it’ll get old to you.”

Lance’s shoulders relaxed and his smile grew crooked. “Then promise to keep telling me all about the mysteries of the universe, Star Captain, and I promise you’ll never be boring.”

It was a nice sentiment - one that Keith truly wanted to believe - but he couldn’t block the voice in his head whispering that it would turn out to be a lie. Still, he mustered up a smile for Lance’s sake. “Sure.”

“Good, because-” Lance was interrupted by his phone buzzing. “Shit. I gotta take Marshy home, the little terror. Will you still be here when I get back?”

Keith shook his head. “I can’t. There’s a press thing at the museum. Mom is out of town, so I have to represent Merriweather in her place.”

“Oh.” It might’ve been wishful thinking, but Lance looked disappointed. “Then I guess I’ll see you Monday?”

“Yeah.” Keith stood and brushed the grass from his jeans before offering a hand to Lance. 

Lance took it, hopping to his feet. “You might want to take a shower before you do your meeting.” He plucked a blade of grass from Keith’s hair and twirled it a few times before blowing it into the wind. “Wouldn’t want the future CEO to look like she’s been rolling around with dogs.”

“Right. Thanks. I will. Um. Bye, Lance.” Keith gave him a little wave, walking backwards a few steps. 

“Bye, Captain Kira.” He turned, pulling Marshmallow out of his little pen and snapping on his leash. 

Before Keith could second guess himself, he ran the few steps back. Lance had straightened but hadn’t yet managed to turn around by the time Keith half-slammed into his back, wrapping his arms around Lance’s middle and squeezing maybe a little too hard.

“Thanks,” he mumbled into the grass-smell of Lance’s work polo. 

"Woah, what-" Lance tried to turn but Keith held firm, so instead he covered Keith’s arms with his own. "What did I do to deserve this?" 

Far too embarrassed to offer any sort of coherent answer, Keith just gave him one last squeeze, then released him and jogged back a few steps. 

“See you Monday,” he offered, then turned and ran off before Lance could see just how red he’d become.

-🍋-

This was a simple affair as things went. Blaytz had driven him into the city, and his mother had briefed him on speakerphone the entire time. Keith didn’t need it; he’d done his homework, as usual. The museum had needed a donor in order to open up a new wing, and his mom had figured it would be excellent press to get their name on the walls of the Chestnut Falls Museum of Science. 

It certainly wasn’t Keith’s first press event. Ever since he’d turned 17, his mother had prepared him to take her place at less important functions. It was good practice, since press conferences would be part of his life on the regular, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it, or would be any less nervous stepping up to the podium than he always was. 

What he had  _ not  _ been prepared for was the strange wash of emotion that swept over him as the new entryway was revealed, the words  _ Kira Astor J.B.D Merriweather Aeronautics & Astronautics Wing  _ prominently displayed up top. 

Clearly his mother was watching the livestream, because he got a text almost immediately after that said “ **Happy early birthday, my darling 💖 I hope you like it. XOXO Mom”**

Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _

Why then. 

Why  _ now. _

Despite knowing there were dozens of cameras trained on him, Keith couldn’t help the glassy sheen in his eyes. He allowed himself a smile, knowing it would look good on film if nothing else. 

  * (8:13 pm): Thanks mom. This means a lot to me



Because it  _ did. _

And that  _ sucked.  _

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. Almost immediately, the heavy film lights hit him in full force as he stepped up to the podium. They reflected off the diamonds around his neck and the white cream of his gown, making everything even more blinding. Here and there, flashes of light indicated that his picture was being taken. 

_ Castor,  _ he coached himself.  _ Pollux. Ursa Major, Ursa Minor. Canis Major, Canis Minor. Leo, Libra, Cygnus.  _

He could do this. 

The first reporter piped up, “Miss Merriweather, were you aware that the wing was being named in your honor?”

Keith shook his head, feeling the heavy diamonds of his earrings swing painfully as he did. “No, actually. This is quite a surprise. A surprise, and an honor. Merriweather Incorporated has always been a strong supporter of STEM education and fostering an interest in the sciences, but this means a great deal to me, personally. I hope the new wing will inspire in the next generation the same curiosity I have always held about the nature of our universe.”

“What sort of exhibits would you like to see housed in rotation?”

And so on. 

For nearly half an hour, Keith stood straight and still under the blinding lights, answering questions as easily as breathing. It was a natural, mindless process, and he even managed to slide in a wry quip or two that made the reporters chuckle. That was good; a humanizing element went a long way, his mother always said. 

When his off-stage prompter signaled he had five minutes left, Keith turned to the microphone for the last time.

“I can take one more question before our time is out. Ah - yes, sir, with the blue tie?”

Blue-tie reporter stood, zoom mic in hand and pen behind his ear. “Yes, Miss Merriweather. Our sources say that Outlast Land Co. is having talks with both Merriweather Inc. and EF Petroleum on a deal to cut a new pipeline across the west side of town, right through Rockhill. Are you aware that this pipeline is invading Native land and deforesting a national preserve? Isn’t it a bit hypocritical of you to be sponsoring a new science wing while taking part in the destruction of the town we live in?”

Every last ounce of training his mother had given him allowed Keith to stay perfectly still and expressionless. Inside, however, his heart was pumping blood to his extremities so hard that his fingers tingled.

What did he say to that? Holy shit, what did he even say?

Keith opened his mouth, ready with his mother’s stock phrase of ‘ _ We are not prepared to comment on that at this moment in time.’ _

Then he paused, took a deep breath, and thought of Lance. 

“I was recently made aware of that, yes.” Fuck, what could he even say that wouldn’t get him grounded later? “As evidenced by many of the projects that bear our name, Merriweather Incorporated has always stood for education and adaptation. As such, I believe there is still a great deal that will need to be considered before the project progresses.” He paused just long enough to suck in a breath, then said, “Thank you. That is all we have time for tonight. Please enjoy the reception.”

He could hear his name being shouted by numerous voices, accompanied by the machine-gun clicking of camera shutters. The museum curator took Keith’s place, encouraging everyone to please make their way to…

He never found out where. Keith ducked behind a door marked  _ Employees Only _ and slumped against the tiled wall. 

He felt his pulse in his cheeks and tried to take deep, slow breaths. 

In.  _ Aquila, the eagle.  _ Out.  _ Aries, the ram.  _

Keith’s phone buzzed. Shit, he’d never put it on silent after his mom’s text.

**BlueLeon (8:23 pm):** Guess you’re officially star captain aren’t you? Congrats

Oh, god. Did that mean Lance had been watching? That was a thousand times worse. Right on the heels of their fight-not-fight about money and inevitabilities, and now Keith had an entire third of the museum named after him. 

  * (8:24 pm): You saw that, huh. Why the hell are you even watching this?



**BlueLeon (8:25 pm):** The reporter was from GRM, they were live streaming it on their youtube channel

  * (8:25 pm): What’s GRM?



**BlueLeon (8:26 pm):** Greenrise movement, me, the protesters

Fuck, that made it so much worse.

  * (8:27 pm): I’m sorry Lance
  * (8:27 pm): I did the best I could with that question



**BlueLeon (8:28 pm):** It felt like you were talking to me in the park  
**(8:28 pm):** Like you were telling me you were thinking about what I said

  * (8:29 pm): I was. I thought of you and changed my answer
  * (8:29 pm): I may not be able to make a lot of my own choices but I don’t want to end up as someone you see as evil



**BlueLeon (8:30 pm):** I don’t think there’s an evil bone in your body, scorps, we’re a team after all

  * (8:30 pm): I hate it when you call me that



**BlueLeon (8:31 pm):** ;) i know

  * (8:32 pm): I’m serious, though. I don’t know what all I can do but
  * (8:32 pm): I at least want to try
  * (8:33 pm): For you 



**BlueLeon is typing…**

**BlueLeon (8:38 pm):** You serious? 

  * (8:40 pm): I mean
  * (8:40 pm): Am I ever not? 



**BlueLeon (8:41 pm):** Good point. Then...meet me after school on thursday? If you really want to help.

  * (8:41 pm): Alright



**BlueLeon (8:42 pm):** Yeah? Cool cool  
**(8:42 pm):** Hey  
**(8:43pm):** You should take me to your stars sometime, captain

Keith brushed his thumb across the words, as if he could feel them gliding under his skin. For the first time in hours, his smile was completely genuine.

  * (8:44 pm): It would be my honor



-🍋-

Keith did not, in fact, see Lance on Monday morning. A student council meeting kept him busy through their mutual study hall as well as French. Which, sure, that sucked and all, but he definitely hadn’t expected Lance to make up the deficit by slamming open the door to AP Government and screaming his name. 

“Kira!” Lance’s voice startled everyone in the room, including Mr. Hill, who drew a squiggly line on the white board straight through the executive branch. 

“Lance?” Keith asked, just as Mr. Hill said, “Mr. Fuentes, what on  _ earth _ ?”

“Uh, Madam President?” Lance tried again at a more acceptable volume. He found Keith over the sea of open-mouthed faces and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You’re needed in the auditorium; it’s Mr. Smythe. He said it’s your fault the schedule’s all jacked and now his lead can’t come to practice.”

“What?” Keith wrinkled his nose and turned to Mr. Hill, who, at the mention of his more combustible colleague, simply rolled his eyes and waved for Keith to go. 

Opting to leave his stuff for later, Keith crossed over to Lance and shut the door behind them both, leaving them in the empty hallway. “What the hell is his problem? Or are you lying to get me out of AP Government?”

“I wish. Then I wouldn’t have had to listen to Mr. Smythe complain that Mel, his perfect soprano, was kidnapped by the Student Council.”

Keith frowned quizzically. “What? I didn’t do anything. We had our meeting this morning. We never have meetings this period.”

“Then you tell him that. I’m tired of trying to talk him down from a full-on aneurysm. Even his chest hair is turning red.”

“Gross.”

They took the steps down to the first floor and around the left, where they could access the auditorium through the Black Box. Before they were even through the doors, Keith could hear Mr. Smythe’s distinct voice. 

“When you signed up for my class, I expected each and every one of you to give me what?”

Mumbles that Keith couldn’t decipher answered.

“I can’t hear you. What did you promise me?”

“We’d give 110% every practice,” the voices chorused monotonously as Keith pushed open the door. 

“Mr. Smythe,” Keith said flatly, “You asked to see me?” 

He turned, the orange hair on his head and chest almost blending with the redness of his skin. “Miss Merriweather! My dear girl, praise the muses you’re here.” He leaned over to grab a clipboard, his low cut V-neck revealing his stomach pooch as he bent. Handing it over, he tapped on the page. “A written permission slip signed by the Student Council. When has planning the Retreat been more important than  _ art _ ?”

Keith looked it over, then looked at Melanie, whose face was burning. None of the signatures on the permission slip looked familiar, which gave Keith a sneaking suspicion that Melanie very much did not want to do whatever it was that Mr. Smythe had her doing. Keith may not have known Melanie all that well (or at all, as Lance had now pointed out), but he at least knew she wasn’t a delinquent. The look on her face was enough to make his decision.

“I realize this must impact your performances, Mr. Smythe,” Keith said smoothly, pushing the clipboard back into his hands. “However, Melanie has always been instrumental in organizing the evening icebreakers and entertainment. That job-” He looked pointedly at Melanie, whose eyes had gone as large as dinner plates. “Requires that she be present for all of the Student Council meetings leading up to the retreat. Melanie is the only one with exact records of our supplies and schedules, and we rely on her to keep everything organized.” 

Mr. Smythe scrutinized them both as he hummed thoughtfully and twirled the end of his mustache. “I suppose, just this  _ once _ , Miss Von Glauer can be excused as long as she  _ promises _ that she’ll put in double work for the Christmas Spectacular.” 

Melanie was still staring at him in shock. Keith looked at her, unblinking, in a way that made it very clear he knew what was happening and she better make it worth his covering her ass. “I’m certain she will. Won’t you, Miss Von Glauer?” 

“Y-yes, Madam President.” Her face lit into a smile and she mouthed  _ thank you. _

He returned the smile. “If that’s all, Mr. Smythe?”

“Yes, Miss Merriweather. Oh no, wait. It’s a good thing you’re here. I have the schedule for the play and sign-up sheets that I’ll need posted around the school once they’re approved. We’re doing Romeo and Juliet, so romantic. There’s also a free spot on set design if you ever change your mind.” He winked as he handed over the stack of papers.

Keith accepted them with a placid smile. “I’ll make sure these are circulated. I’m looking forward to the performance.” 

“Yes, we hope your mother will be in attendance this year. After all, she did donate our new sound system.” Mr. Smythe smiled softly, almost sympathetically, because they both knew she wouldn’t. The moment was broken, though, as he gave a loud clap. “Now that the crisis has been averted, I want everyone back to practicing their lines.” When no one moved he yelled, “Now!” 

The students scrambled into action, all of them talking over each other at once.

Keith turned and headed back to the Black Box, tucking the papers under his arms and wondering, not for the first nor last time, why he, a 17-year-old, was constantly being summoned to clean up the messes of people three times his age. 

Lance jogged behind him until they were side by side in the smaller, darker theater, devoid of anything except a couple of chairs and a piano. Keith flopped down into one for a moment, figuring he’d earned a quick break before heading back to AP Gov. Idly, he pulled one of the sign-up sheets out from under his arm to look at it.

“Thanks for that. I love that guy but he can be a lot when something gets between him and his play. I’ve never seen him so upset.”

Keith glanced up at Lance. “Aren’t you actually in Drama? Won’t he be mad you’re gone?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean I am, but he has me on observation. I’m supposed to ‘soak up the art before I can perform it.’ It probably doesn’t matter where I soak.” Lance sat down, arm brushing against his. Keith held up a flyer. 

“Do you intend to show off the fruits of your marination in the play?” 

“I should be fully saturated by then. I’d make a really hot Mercutio, don’tcha think?” Lance leaned back into a full-on, body builder-type archer pose, which was made far less impressive than he probably hoped by his gangly spaghetti arms. 

“Oh?” Keith raised his eyebrows. “Not going for the lead? I’m actually surprised.” 

“Romeo? Not cool enough. Plus Romeo has to kiss and no offense to anyone in there, but y’know.” 

“Yeah…” Keith trailed off. 

“Did you want to try it out? It’s an open audition.” Lance relaxed next him, leg brushing his thigh where his skirt ran up. “It’d be cool to do it together.”

Keith shifted a little, tugging at his skirt. “I...yeah, actually, I always have. But my mom never approved.” 

“Isn’t her name on the donor plaque? Why wouldn’t she want you performing in the place she paid to make?”

“Oh, let’s see. It’s a ‘waste of time.’ If I had time to practice lines, I could be doing other stuff - like more charity work or a more worthwhile club. I was able to do it when I was younger to help with public speaking and stage fright, but once she’d decided I’d learned all I could, I had to switch to debate to practice arguing on my feet.” Keith sighed and stretched out his legs. “I gave up asking after a while. Plus, I’m probably no good. And it would make everyone else uncomfortable to have me there.” 

"Not me." Lance grabbed one of the papers. "Do you got a pen?" 

Keith fished one out and handed it over. “Well, sure, but you’re a little different, don’t you think? At this point, I think it’s safe to say you won’t clam up whenever I enter a room. Can’t say the same for everyone else.”

"Their loss." Lance scribbled for longer than was probably necessary for the simple form, then held it up for Keith to see.  _ Lance Fuentes  _ and  _ Kira Merriweather  _ were written sloppily on the first two lines. "I'll go turn this in, you enjoy  _ Propaganda 102. _ " 

“Thanks, I’ll - wait, what the fuck, Lance!” 

Keith was out of his chair in a second, grabbing for the paper. Lance spun, holding it above his head.

“Ah-ah- _ ah _ , no, no. It’s too late, it’s in pen. There’s no going back.”

“There’s like a dozen other sign-up sheets!” 

“Oh, did I need to put your name on all of them?” Lance skipped back and ran behind the scattering of chairs. Keith simply opted to plow straight through them in his urgency, reaching as far as he could, and  _ why the fuck was Lance so noodly and long?! _

“What is going on here?” Mr. Smythe’s stage voice boomed in the Black Box. 

Keith froze. “Uh.”

Lance, however, was suffering from no such glacial paralysis. He vaulted over a fallen chair and handed the paper to Mr. Smythe. 

“Just delivering the sign-up sheet,” Lance said with a huge, self-satisfied smile.

“Why, Miss Merriweather!” Mr. Smythe crowed. “I’m so happy to see you’ve changed your mind. I look forward to your audition. Mr. Fuentes, back to class and let Madame President get on with her duties.”

With Mr. Smythe there, Keith couldn’t exactly give Lance the throttling he deserved, but he did grab Lance’s wrist as he passed and hissed out, “I will fucking  _ end _ you for this.”

All he got was an infuriating wink in answer as Lance left.

“It’s nice to see you making friends, Miss Merriweather.” Mr. Smythe folded the audition paper and tucked it under his arm. 

Skipping right over the part where Mr. Smythe was basically calling him friendless, Keith fidgeted with the hem of his skirt. “Mr. Smythe? About my audition…”

“Don’t worry. I won’t play favorites. You’ll have as strict an audition as all the other students. On that stage-” Smythe pointed to the adjacent room. “-you’re yourself, not your mother’s daughter.” 

Keith snapped his jaw shut, blinking hard. “...Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that.” 

“Of course. Now hurry to class, I don’t want Mr. Hill blaming me for your lack of education.”

“Yes, Sir.” Keith smiled at him and slung his backpack over his shoulder. 

-🍋-

“Wait, wait, I know this one.” Lance tapped his pencil to his chin, mumbling under his breath. Keith waved at the paper in between them in invitation. “Shut up, I’m thinking.”

“I didn’t even say anything.” 

“You did, in your head. I could hear your thoughts leaking out.” 

Sunlight danced through the vaulted glass ceiling in beams of glittering dust. The soft drone of chatter hummed just below the twisting melody of _ Poulenc: Flute Sonata. _ They were sitting at their usual table, next to Keith’s favorite plant; it had blossomed recently, filling the space with the sweet scent of nectar. Despite the serene atmosphere, Keith was on the edge of flipping the table.

“We went over this yesterday, remember? Spanish ‘what.’ Musique;  _ what  _ is music without the C?”

“Music what!” Lance scribbled down his answer and shoved the paper over. “There. I think I spelled them all right.”

Keith was trying hard to stay patient, he really was, but Lance had been fighting him every step of the way all day. He didn’t even bother to look at the paper before setting it aside with a sigh. He pulled out a baggie of carrot sticks and passed them over. Lance was always more reasonable when he had a snack.

“What’s up with you today? Normally, you at least try to play along, but today you’re being particularly obtuse.”

Lance crunched on a carrot, pouting at the spelling test. “Am not. I’m being particularly a _ cute. _ ” He clicked his tongue with a wink and shot Keith with finger guns, one of which still held half a carrot.

Keith rolled his eyes - hard - though internally he was awarding Lance points because, okay, that one was pretty clever. “Ha ha. Seriously, though, what’s going on? You’ve been acting weird all week.”

“No I haven’t.” He tapped the paper with his bitten carrot, leaving little water spots. “Aren’t you going to even check? I worked really hard on that.”

Ugh. Fine. If Lance didn’t want to talk, Keith wouldn’t get anything out of him. He glanced over the page, then blinked and double-checked. 

“Lance. Are you serious?”

“Fuck, what did I get wrong? I swear I tried.” He crumpled back into his chair, all excitement draining from him.

The rate at which Lance shrunk back into himself threw Keith. He looked halfway back to test day.

“I’ll say you did.” Keith’s serious face cracked into an eager grin. “They’re all right.”

“Wait, what?” Lance snatched the paper out of his hands and scanned. “Actually, I don’t know why I did that. I can’t tell by looking.” He handed the paper back. “Really, though? You’re not messing with me?”

“Not in the slightest.” Keith’s smile was so big it hurt. “You did it.”

“I did it!” Lance jumped up from his chair and grabbed Keith’s hands. “Holy fuck, we did it!”

Keith happily let himself be tugged to his feet, giggling as he bounced a little with Lance’s continued enthusiastic jumping. “I’m really fucking proud of you, Co-Pilot.”

Lance tugged him close and wrapped him up in his arms. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Captain.”

In that moment, Keith completely forgot where he was. He curled his arms up so he could grip Lance’s shoulders, and buried his nose into Lance’s sweater vest. His hair and his uniform both smelled sweet and tart, like fresh cut green apples. Keith wanted to stay there and drink it in.

“I really couldn’t have done it without you. Maybe I can actually pass French - y’know, as long as I don’t get tired and you give up on me.” 

Keith clucked his tongue in admonishment but didn’t budge. “I hate when you use my own bullshit against me.”

Lance ruffled his hair, probably messing up his ponytail. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Well, don’t  _ you _ two look cozy!”

Keith jumped away from Lance like he’d touched an electric fence. Beside them, Sara Wren was standing with her arms crossed and hip cocked, a coy little smile on her face.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Studying.” Lance said simply, grabbing his spelling test and sitting down. The paper was quickly shoved into his backpack.

Keith and Sara locked eyes. For a moment, he felt as if he was being laser scanned, and it made him want to shove her away. Her and her gross perfume and her snide face.

Her arctic stare melted into something sweet and simpering as she sat primly next to Lance and patted his leg. “Aw, which class? I can help, you know. I have straight As, and I’m  _ particularly _ good at French.” 

It was  _ so hard  _ not to snort at that, Keith had to swallow down the instinct and mask it with a cough. Sara’s pronunciation was worse than Lance’s by far, and she’d been taking it since grade school with the rest of them. To think of Sara “Juh Maple Sara, Bonn Jower” Wren tutoring  _ anyone  _ in French was the biggest joke he’d heard.

Lance glared at the hand on his leg and tried to pull away, but there was no place for him to escape. His knee hit the table hard enough to rattle it. “You don’t want to tutor me, I’m a horrible student. Just ask Kira. Two seconds ago I’m pretty sure I was one  _ un  _ away from being murdered.”

Lance probably missed Sara’s eyebrow twitching at the way he casually dropped Keith’s name instead of the cursory “Madame President,” but she quickly smoothed her pinched expression back into a flirty smile. 

“Sure, I do. In fact, there’s something  _ else  _ I want to do with you, too.”

Keith’s nails were digging into his palms as he clenched his fists to keep himself still. Lance was a big boy, he could handle this, Sara was annoying but she wasn’t - 

“Would you like to come to Homecoming with me, Lance? I’m sure we’d have a great time together.”

...Nevermind. Sara was a rotten, stinking, weasel-faced bitch who could fuck  _ right  _ the fuck off through the rear double doors, please and thank you. 

Before he could stop his stupid mouth, Keith blurted out, “Lance and I are already going to Homecoming together.”

“We are?” Lance asked at the same time that Sara said, “You are?”

Oh, shit. Well, now he had no choice but to follow through.

“Ha-ha, very funny, Lance. Of course, we are, or have you already forgotten?”

When Sara glanced back at Lance for confirmation, Keith sent him a look that clearly said  _ Come on, dumbass, play along! _

Lance blinked at him and then at Sara. “What?” A tiny smirk replaced his confusion. “I thought you weren't going to say yes until after I passed my test.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m an excellent tutor,” Keith replied smoothly. “Since that way there’s no doubt you’ll pass.”

Sara’s face went through a roulette wheel of emotions before she settled on a tight smile. “Of course.” She stood and straightened her skirt, leveling Keith with a look that was positively withering. “Whatever Madame President wants, Madame President gets. You two have fun.”

“We will.”

Sara almost managed to whip Keith in the face as she tossed her hair and left.

“Hope she trips,” he muttered. 

Lance rubbed his leg where Sara had touched him. “Thanks for the save, man.”

Keith winced. Right - he’d spared Lance, but at what cost? “Sorry about that. You can, um, just tell people I turned you down or something later. If you. Um.” He stuttered over the words, as if his tongue had just fucked off to Bermuda because it was tired of his shit. “I mean, like, unless you - you know \- like…”

“Oh. Is there someone else you wanted to go with?”

“No!” A few heads raised from across the atrium, where Keith’s voice had carried. “No,” he repeated, softer. “I just - ah - didn’t know if you’d even want to go. I’ve never been. And - uh.”

“I don’t mind. It would be nice to have a homecoming memory where I don’t get cheated on.”

Keith pulled his mussed ponytail over his shoulder to nervously pick at the split ends. “Yeah. Guess you don’t need to worry about that if it’s just me.”

Lance stood and gently pulled Keith's hand away from his hair, linking their fingers together. “Yeah, I don’t think I would.”

And Keith...would love to have a clever comeback to that, or something to save face, but instead, he absolutely melted. He  _ felt  _ the way his shoulders dropped, his lashes fluttered, his breath escaped him. It was  _ disgusting _ . 

And he couldn’t have helped it for the world. 

He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just lifted his head to glance back and forth between Lance’s eyes, searching for any hint that he was being sarcastic behind the blue or the brown. 

All he found was sincerity. 

“So, is that a yes?” Lance asked.

Slowly, hesitantly, Keith smiled. “Yes, it is.”

“Cool.” Lance’s grin was brighter than the sun shining through the glass.

Above them, the chime signaled the end of their mutual study hall. Somehow, Keith was going to have to tear himself away to go argue over scheduling and event planning, as if he hadn’t just experienced some sort of tectonic shift under his feet. 

He sighed and took a step back, though he let their fingers stay entangled just a second longer. “Have fun in Calculus.”

“Yeah.” Lance curled his fingertips, holding onto Keith. The tension split them apart and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll see you for English?”

“Yep. Yes. Yes, you will.” But Lance wasn’t even looking at him. “Uh, everything good th-?”

Lance interrupted him by snatching his hand to - to shake it? And he just kept shaking it as he spoke. “I meant it, you know. Take me to your stars, captain. I’ll follow you.” 

Keith was having a difficult time keeping up with the whirlwind of whatever the fuck was happening. He looked down at their hands and vaguely said, “‘Kay.”

“I gotta go to class. Not all of us are the president.” He slipped out of Keith’s hand and snatched his bag. “I mean that, too,” Lance said, pointing at Keith’s fist. “See ya in English.” 

Lance was already halfway down the hallway by the time Keith booted up again. As he did, he realized that the lingering feeling in his palm wasn’t just the ghost of Lance’s touch. There was actually something in his hand that hadn’t been there before.

He uncurled his fist and blinked at it: a crinkled and worn packet of Taco Bell sauce.

“I’m up for it if you are,” it said.

What...what the hell did  _ that  _ mean?

“Up for what?” he asked aloud, but the hot sauce didn’t reply. 

extra art:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to the beautiful art from [Pretzellus](https://www.instagram.com/pretzellus/?hl=en)
> 
> Autumn: To clarify, Kimberly Merriweather, Keith’s mom in this fic, is NOT Krolia. This is a seriously AU AU, and she needed to be a specific character that Krolia just wouldn’t have fit within. If you’re at all curious, his mom is actually better than the real person she is based on. 
> 
> Families are tricky. It’s possible for them to love you while also being toxic. There are no generalizations for how to best handle that, either. I hope that, if any of this feels familiar, you will soon find yourself in a place where you are safe and loved and supported with no caveats. You’re not alone ❤️
> 
> Sail: i said that lance would have a big reveal and here it is! i really love protest lance i hope everyone enjoyed that little bit of character development. oh boy good luck keith! i can't wait to write more of protester lance, look at him, look at his art that Pretz did! he looks so good, he lives rent free in my mind all day (also if you're curious that's anti face recognition makeup)  
> 
> 
> Check us both out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> Early access to fics as well as some other nifty links on our [LinkTree](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: anger, misgendering, misunderstanding
> 
> Check us both out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> Art credit to:  
> [eekzley](https://twitter.com/eekzley) and [Pretzellus](https://www.instagram.com/pretzellus/?hl=en)
> 
> We're making a Mothman Lance Zine: Lamplight with art from Pretz, [check it out here ](https://twitter.com/LamplightZine)

-🍋- 

Keith very genuinely had no idea how he’d gotten there: standing in line at a department store in a shitty old mall while he swiped his card and Lance glared at the back of his head.

Not, like, how he’d  _ physically  _ gotten there. Blaytz had driven him after school. 

But how they’d gone from the playful, carefree mood they’d had all afternoon to this one, where it felt like Lance was silently accusing him of Every Single Crime. 

It started out fine. That Wednesday was a half-day, so they’d agreed to meet at the mall after class to go Homecoming shopping. Not his usual mall, but the one out by Lance. 

_ Hill _ Mall.

Keith had arrived a half hour early and extremely overdressed. That’s how it felt, anyway, given that everyone else seemed to be comfortable in their jeans and hoodies while Keith was busy choking to death in a high-collared sweater his mother had bought in Milan. 

He didn’t see any stores he really recognized; No Gucci, no Versace, no Cartier or Chanel - all the usual things one would expect to see in a mall. Instead, he passed a Payless, a Dress Barn and no less than three Dollar Stores before he found Lance leaning against the bannister next to the elevator. 

“Hey there, short, cute, and moody. You going to teach the mall some manners the way you did the ice cream shop?”

Keith huffed and hip-checked him. “I am none of those things. You’re like... _ maybe  _ two inches taller.”

“Oh, no, not moody at all. Super  _ not _ emo. Definitely not the personification of MCR in pearls.” Lance smirked, cocky and proud. Unfortunately for Keith, he couldn’t stay mad because the next thing Lance did was entwine their arms together. “Speaking of, I got a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” Keith perked up. “Did you get me a museum wing, too?”

“You wish. Not all of us can be your mom.” 

They passed stores specifically for hats, stores specifically for shoes, and whatever an Icing was. It, confusingly, was not a store specifically for cakes. Lance dragged him along, passing tacky store after tacky store until they stopped in front of a void of darkness. 

“We’re here.”

Keith took it in slowly, concrete black floor to industrial black ceiling.

“I don’t know what this is,” he said, “But I’m moving into it forever.”

Lance looked as proud as if he  _ had _ gifted Keith an entire museum wing. “I can’t believe I’m the first person to ever show you Hot Topic. C’mon, what are you waiting for?”

That had taken up the first hour of their shopping trip alone. Once Keith had gotten over the initial shyness of feeling so distinctly out of place, he’d started idly poking around until he’d passed by all the fandom shit he didn’t care about and was introduced to rack upon rack of black items with studs. 

Lance had laughed outright at the way his eyes widened, and had taken it upon himself to start piling things up that he wanted Keith to try on. Keith was perfectly content to walk behind him, offering  _ Yes, No, Hell No _ , or  _ Fuck You _ to whatever he picked up. Each answer only made Lance laugh louder and pick more outrageous things.

After their initial sweep, Keith wound up trying on a few pairs of pants, a few button-up shirts accentuated by varying amounts of metal and leather, a pair of weird pinstripe booty shorts with suspenders that he tried on because he’d been dared, and a lacy corset that he just lobbed over the top of the dressing room door once he saw it. It was worth the risk of hitting someone on the other side for the way it made Lance laugh. 

The absolute best part of it all, though, was seeing Lance’s face when he’d first stepped out, decked head to toe in an ensemble of Lance’s choosing.

“Holy fuck, dude.” Lance visibly swallowed and it shot straight into Keith’s stomach with a curl of excitement. “I’m not saying you don’t look good in pearls, but black is definitely your color.”

Something about that little bob in Lance’s Adam's apple made Keith feel recklessly confident. He leaned against the doorframe of the dressing room and crossed his arms, smirking.

“I think you’d look just as pretty with a pearl necklace, Co-Pilot.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Lance breathed out, face scarlet. He swallowed again, studying the ceiling. Keith had already known Lance could dish it out but couldn’t take it; he’d just never seen Lance  _ not able to take it _ so thoroughly. “Okay.” 

Keith just laughed and retreated to try on another outfit, leaning against the back of the door once it was safely shut to bite his knuckle and grin.

He’d bought the outfit, too. 

Well, several, actually. Everything was far cheaper than he was used to, so there was no reason not to just go ahead and get everything Lance had shown interest in. His reaction was a plus, of course, but the real truth was that those particular outfits had made Keith feel good about himself in a way he had not for a very,  _ very  _ long time. He liked the cut, the colors (or lack thereof), the metal accents, and the way it made him look perfectly rectangular. None of them were suitable for Homecoming, but he was still feeling very cheerful by the time they made it to the next store, and the next, and the next. 

And the next. 

And...after that, he wasn’t feeling as cheerful. No matter how much more enjoyable it was with Lance, clothes shopping still kinda fucking sucked. First of all, Keith didn’t have the patience to rifle through all the racks to find a thing he liked in his actual size. Second, once an outfit was located, getting it off the rack meant untangling it from all the other clothes and hangers. Third, changing into clothes and back out of clothes over and over meant his hair was one giant knot within a few outfits. Last, and worst of all, Lance took  _ for. Ev. Er.  _ to put on a single pair of pants, as if guiding his ass into them was as meticulous a process as navigating a cargo ship through a narrow canal. 

Not as if that was a comment on Lance’s ass, necessarily. Just, you know, his speed. Because Keith couldn’t comment on Lance’s ass. Because he’d never looked at it before. 

Anyway. 

He’d still wound up with quite a few new things that had met with both of their approval and felt so much more  _ Keith  _ than 99.9% of the bullshit in his closet. It was validating, and exciting, and had put him in a particularly good mood, which was why he was caught off guard when Lance cleared his throat from the other side of a dressing room door.

“Are you still going to be good for Homecoming after all this?”

Good for what? Like, would he still have the patience to keep shopping? Not if Lance kept moving at negative snail o’clock. 

Keith looked up at the dressing room door from where he sat slumped down in the chair across from it, likely put there specifically for people who were shopping with Lance and needed somewhere to grow mushrooms. “Is that not what we’re doing? Looking for homecoming outfits and trying on whatever else you tell me to try on?” 

Lance took a minute before he answered. “I mean it's fine trying stuff on, but nothing you’ve gotten is really for Homecoming.”

“Where do we find a Homecoming store, then? And how close is it to food?”

There was something off about the whole thing that Keith couldn’t put his finger on. It was like Lance sounded...tense? Not quite irritated, but... _ hm _ . 

Maybe they were both getting tired and food would do them some good. 

The door opened to Lance wearing a paisley button-down Keith had made him try on as a joke. “I mean the food court is kinda in the middle, so it's near everything.” He picked at the cuff, snapping the buttons open and closed. It actually looked good, annoyingly, but Keith was very tired of dishing out compliments for stuff Lance wasn’t going to even buy in the end. 

“Alright, then.” 

Keith stood from his chair and walked over to Lance, putting on his best ‘I really like your company but I’m starving, oh god, help’ smile and adjusting Lance’s skewed shirt collar for him.

“Take me on another culinary whirlwind, your choice, and my very highly developed intuition tells me the store after that will finally be The One.”

“Yeah, I bet.” _ Snap, snap, snap _ . “How about Panda? I could really go for some orange chicken.” 

Sure, fine, whatever. They could go to the fucking moon and chew rocks for all Keith cared, so he just nodded his assent and collected his heavy bags. 

He probably could have guessed that Panda would be Asian food of some variety, but the fact that ‘orange chicken’ was legitimately  _ orange _ took him somewhat by surprise. 

Lance scarfed his portion down but Keith was regretting ordering the exact same thing. He’d only eaten three of the neon orange balls in the same amount of time it took Lance to polish off his plate. Lance lasted about thirty seconds of eyeing Keith’s unfinished food before Keith slid it over with a laugh and left to grab something else for himself. 

When he’d returned, his plate, as he’d expected, was empty. He shook his head with a smile.

“Did you know,” Keith said conversationally, “That pizza place, like, made the pizza already and then they just put it in the oven to reheat it? They don’t just make it when you order it. Here, I got you a slice too. You can throw it away if you don’t want it, but I figured I might as well since you tend to like whatever I have better than yours.” 

“Yeah, it's frozen.” Lance took the slice. “Thanks, but I don’t know if I can finish this. That was  _ a lot _ of orange chicken.”

Keith shrugged. “Throw it out then. Where are we going after this?”

Lance folded the paper plate around the slice. “Our best bets are Dillards or Bellisario, probably. They’ll both be a little pricey, but I came prepared. Which do you wanna try first?”

“Whichever is closest.”

“You keep saying that as if any of these stores are far.” Lance stood. “I'll be right back.”

Keith ate his pizza alone. When he was wetting a napkin to clean the grease from his fingers, Lance returned with a little plastic bag.

“I Googled Bellisario while you were gone,” Keith announced, “And I want to go there. They seem a little more Homecoming and a little less...book club wine mom.”

Lance nodded. “Sure, wherever is fine.”

They’d practically walked in silence to the store, Keith with his arms full of bags and Lance with his single one. He was a little surprised Lance hadn’t offered to help. It wasn’t like Keith really needed it, but Lance was usually quick to lend a hand. Instead, he was staring so hard at the ground it was like he was counting the tiles. 

When they reached the store, they agreed to split up to cover more ground. Keith didn’t love wandering around on his own, since he didn’t really know what he was looking for, but he sucked it up to give Lance some space for his weirdness. 

He weaved haphazardly between racks and racks of evening gowns that likely cost about a fourth of the ones he usually had to wear. It was a dim, faraway realization - that he’d somehow absorbed an eye for quality even if he didn’t personally give a shit. It made him weirdly resentful of his mother, as if she’d planted some sort of seed that had sprouted inside him without his consent, making him instinctively judgmental. 

It was in the middle of this moment of distracted irritation that he happened to land on something that made him pause and blink. 

It wasn’t a dress, but it wasn’t really a suit either - more like a formal approximation of business attire. The shirt was a sleeveless vest on the warmer side of purple that buttoned on one side, with sharp, angular lapels. It was paired with a set of fitted black pants that had a stripe down either side in the same wine-purple. It wasn’t what he’d pick if he could do so without raising eyebrows, but it was enough of a compromise that he felt far less miserable than he normally did about the idea of evening wear. 

Grabbing one in his size, he found Lance shifting through a stack of collared shirts. 

“Find anything?” Lance asked over his shoulder.

Keith held up his choice. “Does this count?”

Lance turned and a grin slowly grew across his face. “I didn’t think you’d pick purple. I was expecting something studded and black.”

“I mean,” Keith squirmed a little. “Like.  _ Blue  _ Leon,  _ Scarlet  _ Scorpion...makes...purple? So I thought…?” 

“That’s perfect. God, you’re so smart. Here I was, trying to find a black shirt because I was sure you’d want to look like we were going to a funeral.” The smile reached Lance’s dual-colored eyes and Keith relaxed slightly in their glow. Everything was going back to normal. “Was there anything around it that matched?”

“Uh, I didn’t look. I just kinda...grabbed this.” 

“Let's go check. Hopefully they do, or it’ll be hell trying to get that exact shade.” 

There were indeed a few things that matched. Apparently they’d made a whole line for that color: an evening gown, vest, a few shirts, pants, and a floor length skirt - a kind of mix and match thing that only a few of the colors seemed to have. 

Lance was practically grinning from ear to ear as he picked out his outfit. “Dude, this is awesome. I love these.”

Keith couldn’t help but feel a little thrill of pride - first off, because it seemed like Lance had broken out of whatever mood he’d been in, and second, because it was obvious how everything was meant to go together. It would be clear that he and Lance were a matching set, and that was deeply satisfying in a way Keith didn’t have time to think about. He had shit to try on.

They took dressing rooms that were side by side to change. Despite that fact that he’d chosen this outfit himself, Keith still had a moment of trepidation before he looked in the mirror. Formal attire was usually the worst thing to look up and see reflected back at him, and he’d been prepared for that familiar sinking sensation. But this time, he paused.

This time, for the  _ first time _ , the person smiling back at him in evening wear was someone he didn’t hate to see. He was well-muscled, not too curvy, and most of all... _ well _ ...

Kinda handsome. 

“You ready, Captain?” Lance called from the other side of the door.

“Mm-hm.”

Keith opened the door and stepped out, tucking his hair behind his ear, and froze with his hand still hovering. 

Lance had chosen a black jacket with purple lapels over a wine shirt that made his blue eye turn almost green. The slacks were form-fitting and actually made it all the way down his legs for a change. He still wore his sneakers and the knockoff luxury of the outfit made his many bracelets stand out. Keith hadn’t even noticed he’d been wearing them until they were glaringly obvious against the formal wear. 

“Fuck,” Lance said, the same time Keith murmured, “Oh, shit.”

“I think this is it, K. You found us outfits.”

Keith grinned. “Yeah? Yeah. Okay. Cool.”

“And wow.” 

“Wow?” 

“Wow?” Red bloomed on the tips of Lance’s ears. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud. You’re just -  _ damn.” _

A similar heat prickled across Keith’s cheeks and down his neck. He reached out on autopilot to tuck one of Lance’s loose curls behind his ear. “Mmm. You, too.”

He could feel more than hear Lance’s small gasp. “You, too,” Lance said, voice squeaking. He coughed, covering his mouth. “I mean. You know what? We should buy these, probably.”

He licked his lips. “Yeah. That’s -  _ um _ . That’s what you do with clothes, for sure.”

Keith didn’t want to buy them. Or rather, he did, but he also didn’t want to leave that moment. The air around them was statically charged, and all of the ambient noise from the store was silenced by the anticipatory ringing in his ears. 

“You know,” Lance started.

“...Yeah?”

“I think you should make this the new uniform at Merriweather.”

“Heh.” Keith’s answering smile was crooked. “First order of business when I take over.”

“Can’t wait.”

There was no point in trying on anything else. They had what they’d come for, so all that was left to do was carry it up to the cash register. 

But Lance didn’t come out of the changing room. 

Okay so it wasn’t  _ so _ weird for Lance to take a million years, Keith had definitely learned that lesson, but...it’d been a good 15 minutes. Like, enough to be kind of concerning.

Keith stepped out of line and knocked on the door. “Everything okay in there?”

The door opened under his fist and Lance stepped out dressed in his hoodie and jeans like the rest of the mall residents. The sparkle from before he’d disappeared behind the door was replaced by a shadow. He didn’t look up when he said, “You can go ahead, I gotta put some of this back.”

“What?” Keith wrinkled his nose. “Like, you need a different size? Or you want to try the other shirt?”

“No, no. The shirt is the only thing I need to match you, right? The most important piece.” 

“I guess, but the matching pants and jacket really make it. I thought you really liked all of it. What changed your mind?”

Lance laughed, stunted and too loud. “Nothing. The jacket is just a little pricey, is all. Don’t worry though, no one cares what the guy is wearing. As long as you have your full outfit and I got the shirt, we’ll be fine. I’ll put these back and then we can go back to having fun.” He turned to do exactly that, but Keith jogged in front of him. 

“Is that all? That’s not a problem. Just give it to me and I’ll get it all for us.”

Despite having two inches over Keith, Lance seemed to shrink two inches shorter. “I saved up for this with my dog-walking money so you kinda already have. I told you it’s okay. The jacket is nice but the shirt is what matches yours and I got pants I could probably fix up.”

Keith crossed his arms and stood firm. “Keep it. I should have offered earlier, since I basically volunteered you. It’s not an issue and I want to. It’s not even that exp-” He bit his lip at the last second, but the comprehension had already dawn in Lance’s eyes. 

“Just…” Keith sighed. “It’s silly not to get it when you really like it and I really want us to match. Maybe it’s dumb but I...like the idea of everyone instantly knowing we’re there together.”

An entire myriad of emotions crossed Lance's face before it settled on resignation. “I’m paying you back,” he said, handing over the jacket and pants.

Keith accepted the pile but shook his head. “That’s dumb. You need it more than I do, and besides, why have all of this money if I can’t use it for things I want and the people I care about?”

The shadow from before creeped across Lance’s face until it swallowed his eyes. “Right. Let’s check out then.”

So  _ that  _ was how he’d wound up standing in line at a department store in a shitty old mall while he swiped his card and Lance glared at the back of his head. 

And he still had no idea what was happening, or more importantly, where things had gone so wrong.

-🍋-

The only text he’d received since the mall incident was during lunch on Thursday (where Lance was conspicuously absent): a curt confirmation that Keith was still meeting him after school. Keith replied in the affirmative, because no matter where they stood with each other, he was still a man of his word. 

So there he was, loitering outside the janitor’s closet and trying not to look conspicuous. The student body never went down this hallway unless they were going to poop in the unused restroom or trying to find the janitor, which meant “don’t look conspicuous” was a pretty tall order. Especially for Keith. 

He scuffed his shoe on the tile, staring at his phone and wondering - not for the first time - when he’d become the kind of sucker who lurked in hallways just because someone cute had asked him to. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Lance said from right beside him. 

Keith jolted and glared at him. “Why do you  _ do  _ that?” He hissed. 

“Apologize?”

“Just appear out of nowhere and scare the piss out of me!”

The tension between them prickled. Normally Lance was all touchy and in his personal space, but now it was like -  _ well _ , like he was everyone else. Too scared to get close.

“I didn’t mean to, sorry.” 

And like -  _ that _ , that right there. Never once had Lance apologized for startling him. He’d always gotten a lot of joy from the way Keith jumped. This sullen Lance was downright eerie. 

Lance held up a set of keys, jingling them. “Ready to change the world, Kira?”

“I guess.” Keith eyed the keys. “Wait, where did you get those? Just what exactly are we doing here?”

“From the janitor, duh.” Lance jingled them again. “And we’re going to do a bit of charity work, but the kind that actually helps people. Do you wanna be Robin Hood or Maid Marian?”

Realization smacked him upside the head and Keith gaped. “We’re  _ stealing _ . By helping, you mean stealing, oh my god.”

“We’re not stealing.” Lance rolled his eyes. “We’re taking from the rich and giving to the poor. We’re Robin Hood-ing, which is generally accepted as something good.”

Fuck. 

When Keith said he wanted to  _ help,  _ he’d at least assumed it would be, like,  _ legal.  _ If they were caught -

“...Fine. But I at least get to be Little John.”

“Weird choice, but you are kinda bear-ish.” Lance opened the door, not even fiddling with which key it was. It was like he was practiced at it. 

Holy shit, he probably was.

“How long have you been doing this?” Keith whispered next to him. 

“Uh…” Lance held the door open and the automatic lights clicked on. “How long have I been going here?”

“Oh my  _ god.”  _

“Yeah, Spanish has its connections. I’m pretty free to take whatever I want. Apparently the school doesn’t keep track; you guys just get whatever you need and then they buy more when it's gone. So now you just buy enough for us at Anderson, too. Pretty sweet deal.” 

Keith’s first instinct was to bristle at the idea that a Merriweather employee was the one facilitating this supply theft. His second, more prominent instinct was to take the time to think it over. Because Lance was probably right. No one at Merriweather likely kept track of what was needed outside of “It’s there” and “It’s getting low.” 

He gave a low sigh that puffed his cheeks and took all his hesitation with it. “Wait here and I’ll grab some boxes from the student council office.”

“Glad to have you onboard.”

Keith didn’t take long to fetch the boxes, mostly because he was worried about someone catching him, so he made it back in record time. He sat on the floor to assemble them while Lance bundled up smaller items into clear trash bags.

“So,” Keith tried for conversation. “Who is Anderson?” 

Lance leveled him with a look that said, ‘ _ are you kidding _ .’ “My school?”

Oh. That...made sense. Keith averted his eyes as he fiddled with the packing tape to unstick the end. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s cool. Maybe I never told you.”

Keith was about to ask another question, something, anything to get Lance talking, when he was interrupted by an awfully familiar voice saying some definitely  _ un _ familiar things. 

“Hey, Lance. I checked the other closet, but I don’t think they’ve replaced the tampons in the Middle School, so I -  _ oh _ .”

Melanie and Keith stared at each other in equally startled silence before they blurted out the others’ names in disbelief. 

“Sweet, the whole team is here. Kira, Mel. Mel, Kira. You already know each other so I’m sure we can skip straight to the fun stuff.” Lance hefted a package of toilet paper. “Let’s get packing!”

There was a span of about forty years wherein Keith and Melanie just gaped at each other, likely running through the shock of the fact that the other was there, in the janitor’s closet, actively helping a fellow student steal from the school in some kind of tissues-and-tampons heist. Eventually, Keith cleared his throat and offered, “Hi, Melanie. Fancy meeting you here.”

That seemed to dissolve her tension enough to giggle, though it was still shy and mousey in the way he’d come to expect. 

“I, um. Didn’t really expect to see you here either, Madame President.”

Keith waved her off and went back to his box. “I think at this point you should probably just call me by name. Feels kinda strange to hear ‘Madame President,’ given, you know, the circumstances.”

“Got it, um.” She smiled. “K-Kira.”

...Wow. Keith had never heard his legal name said with so much shaky reverence before. He prided himself on not rolling his eyes. 

Melanie turned to bodily face Lance but her eyes were still fixed on Keith. “What do you need from me?” 

“Hunk says we’re completely out of tissues and he found out the teachers have to buy their own markers. Also the Library has been out of printer paper since last month.” After that, Lance was all business. More serious than Keith had ever seen him. 

In less than a half hour, they had 15 boxes packed and ready with supplies. They each grabbed a box - well, Keith grabbed two; Thanks, Student Council - and they marched right out the front door.

Melanie took the lead and guided them over to a little grape sedan. They dropped their boxes as Melanie popped the trunk, but as soon as she had, they had to take a moment. In a few seconds, they all seemed to come to the same conclusion: maybe five of the fifteen boxes would fit in the back of Melanie’s car. 

“Um,” she hedged. “I guess we could take multiple trips?”

Keith sighed. In for a penny, his mom always said. 

“No, I’ve got this. Just go get the rest of the boxes and pile them here.” He opened his phone and dialed.

When Blaytz pulled the car around, Melanie smiled in excitement and Lance waved behind their tower of boxes. Blaytz hopped from the driver’s side and tipped his hat at them all, cheerful as always. 

“Someone moving in with us, Miss?” He asked jovially. 

Again, Keith sighed. “No, actually, we’re just stealing from this school to go to another school. Do you mind giving us a hand?” 

He shrugged and popped the trunk on their long black car, a compartment with more than enough space for everything at once. Inwardly, Keith spared a thought for the fact that, now that they knew how much easier things would be with his car, it likely wouldn’t be the last time he found himself in this position of petty theft.

It took much less time to load up the trunk with Blaytz’s help. Then all four of them piled into their Vehicle of Thievery and headed towards Anderson...wherever that was. 

It was, as it turned out, in the Hill. Which meant Lance lived nearby, if this had been his school.

Which meant the protest he’d gone to, the pipeline project Tom’s family was trying to implement, wasn’t just a moral issue for Lance. It was personal. 

That was hard to reconcile as they drove through it and the buildings became increasingly more dilapidated, the windows increasingly barred. By the time they pulled into the driveway of what looked more like a federal prison than a high school, Keith felt guilty for the fleeting thought that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to just...pave over everything here and start fresh. 

Lance’s face was nearly expressionless, and even Melanie looked relaxed - or, if not relaxed, at least unsurprised. Was this not her first time seeing it? Had she lived somewhere nearby too?

How much of his entire reality did Keith just kind of...take for granted?

The entire school was surrounded by a high gate. Lance leaned through the privacy window to give instructions on how to get in. Apparently the gate only went around the front but had never been finished, so all that was necessary to circumvent it was to park by the soccer field in the back. Grade A security at its finest. 

“Hunk said he left the science door open for us,” Lance said as he slithered back into his seat.

Keith opened his mouth to confirm, but what he actually said was, “Do you miss it?” 

“Normal school?” Lance shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, of course. All my friends go here. Merriweather isn’t bad, but I don’t really fit in.” 

Melanie elbowed Lance. “Shush. You fit in better than half the population of Merriweather.”

“So, like 10 people.”

“You got me there,” Melanie giggled. 

It took a lot of effort not to glare at Melanie for that little show of intimacy. How close were they? When did they even talk enough that they’d reached the elbow-jab stage? 

Keith bit his tongue and waited for the car to stop so they could get this mess over with. 

He unloaded in silence while Lance and Melanie chatted. It was an easy type of friendly conversation that Keith wasn’t sure he had with Lance. Did Lance look at him like that? Did he smile easily and joke around?

Keith wasn’t sure anymore. 

“Follow me,” Lance said, hefting a box. “We gotta go give the taxes back to the good people of Nottingham.”

There were a lot of implications to that statement that rubbed Keith the wrong way, but he held his tongue and grabbed a box under each arm.

They marched through the dry soccer field and onto the concrete pathways between the massive buildings. Lance toed open a large metal door with ‘Science’ spray painted across it in white letters. 

Inside, only the emergency lights were on and it was close to freezing. Keith shivered and stepped to the side, not sure where he was going and hoping someone else would take the lead. In doing so, he brushed against the wall, which snagged his shirt.

“Wh -  _ ow _ .” It hadn’t just snagged, it’d scratched him right through the fabric. A wall had never attacked him before. In the low light, he could see that the wall was entirely covered in some kind of uneven, jagged texture.

“What the hell happened to the wall?” He asked in a whisper.

No one answered him. Lance and Melanie took the lead through bland white corridor after bland white corridor, so different from the warm carpet and neat wainscoting of Merriweather’s halls. Occasionally, the weird, passive violence of the bumpy wall gave way to painted brick, which at least brought the atmosphere from ‘abandoned warehouse’ to ‘Alcatraz.’ 

The janitorial closet was nowhere near where they’d parked, and they had to walk through almost the entire building to drop off their boxes. 

“Why don’t you stay here and unpack,” Lance said to Melanie. “And we can start bringing over the rest.”

She nodded and sat down on the tile, already ripping into a box. “Roger.”

Keith almost offered to do it himself, just to get a break from the static electricity crackling between him and Lance. He followed Lance back down the hallway towards where Blaytz was parked, trying to keep his footsteps quiet as if the floor itself would scan the soles of his shoes and set off an intruder alarm. 

He jogged a little to keep pace with Lance’s purposeful strides. “Is there anyone on guard here?” 

“Sure. There’s a night guard scheduled to come by every hour. So we have time.” Their footsteps echoed in the hollow hallway and Keith was distinctly aware of how loud their clothes were.

“What about cameras? Has anyone ever caught you before?”

Lance shot him a small smile but the feelings behind it were too complicated for Keith to pick up with the brief glance. “Just one person, but it turned out alright. You scared?”

“I’m cautious. There’s a difference.” 

All he got for that was a chuckle. “Don’t worry. Not getting caught is like, Robin Hood’s thing.” 

Keith didn’t know what else to say to that. The ‘Robin Hood’ thing kept nagging at him, as if Lance was clearly placing himself on the side of good and anyone with money in the role of Sheriff or Prince John - in other words, evil. He’d said he’d been rethinking the correlation lately, especially after seeing Melanie at the pipeline protest, but…

“At least it’s-” Lance continued but Keith wasn’t listening.

That was the other thing. Clearly Melanie was old hat at this by now, and Lance had only been going to Merriweather since late August. He must have moved very quickly in befriending her; That, or they’d  _ really  _ hit it off at the pipeline. 

“Wait.” Keith interrupted Lance and tugged them both to a stop, bitter smoke rising in his chest. “Is Melanie really the reason you think you might be bi?”

“What?” Lance blinked and then squinted as if he were trying to read small print on Keith’s forehead. “Melanie is at least bi?”

“No, I mean.” Frustrated, Keith gestured back towards where they’d come. “Obviously this isn’t the first time you two have conspired together. So I’m asking - if you’re close enough to involve her, is she the one you’ve been waffling over?”

_“Melanie?”_ Lance asked, loud enough to echo. He waved his hands, looking everywhere except at Keith. “Wha - you think…I mean Melanie is sweet and she’s fun to hang out with but - Why do _you_ think it's her of all people?” 

“Because you’re apparently closer to her than anyone else,” Keith hissed back. “How long has she been actively helping you, when we weren’t even close enough for you to  _ tell  _ me? Who else knew before me? The entire drama class?”

Eyes wide, Lance took a step back as if Keith had kicked him. “I wasn’t hiding this from you. I was hiding it from everyone. Mel, well, it just happened.”

“Hiding it since day one, apparently. Is that why you transferred in the first place? So you could play hero by rightfully taking away from evil, corrupt Merriweather?”

“What the fuck.” The kicked puppy look melted away and hardened into lines across Lance’s face. He stood his full two inches over Keith and glared. “Believe it or not, not everything is about you and your little school.  _ Ugh _ .” Lance glared at a spot behind Keith’s head. “This is exactly why I don’t like girls.”

Instantly, Keith’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of Lance’s shirt. He yanked him down so that they were eye to eye when he snarled, “ _ Take. That. Back _ .”

“Why? So you can keep pretending I’m in some kind of conspiracy to personally attack you by stealing toilet paper?” He didn’t struggle and that only served to fuel Keith’s anger. “Too bad,  _ princess _ , the real world doesn’t care about your feelings just because you have money.”

Lance might as well have slapped him for the sharp pain and whiplash those words caused. 

“What the  _ fuck is your problem? _ ” Keith could see the red creeping in around his vision. It had been a long time since he’d lost control this badly, but the fury was pumping through his veins faster than his blood, moving his mouth, taking over his body. “So you went through this whole thing about how wealthy people are all evil, decided I was different, then we go on  _ one  _ date and you sound like James Fucking Griffin. What the  _ fuck  _ did I do to you yesterday, huh?”

Lance opened his mouth, shut it, then licked his lips. “That was a date?”

A whole new kind of heat quickened Keith’s pulse, his chest rising and falling as he panted through the hurt. “Forget it.  _ Clearly  _ we don’t know each other at all.” He released Lance’s shirt and shoved him back. “Probably been using me for this all along.” 

“I’ve never used you for anything. Except maybe homecoming clothes and a few, okay, a lot of lunches. But you shared those with me on your own.” Lance’s voice dropped to a low hiss. “If that was really too much, then I’ll pay you back for all of it.” 

“I don’t give a  _ shit  _ about the money!” Pure, unfiltered venom dripped from every word. “I give a shit about the fact that I give a shit about  _ you _ . I thought you felt similarly, but I guess that’s not possible if you think I’m such a  _ dramatic fucking  _ **_girl_ ** _! _ ” 

“Well, you are! You think I somehow worked my ass off to have a  _ chance _ at going to Merriweather, ride the bus for three fucking hours every morning, and tried to be your friend after you  _ insulted _ me, all so that I could get some tissues?” Lance stepped forward, crowding into Keith’s space. “Are you hearing yourself? Of  _ course,  _ I give a shit about you. Why else do you think I trusted you enough to ask you to come along in the first place!”

“Well. Three is company, you know, so you and Maid Marian back there have fun. Hopefully she’s more your speed and decidedly less of a  _ princess _ .” Keith spat the word like it was scalding him, and still he didn’t feel rid of the sour taste it left behind.

“What do you have against Mel? I thought you were friends.”

Keith straightened his clothes and held his chin up imperiously. “I have nothing against her. I just didn’t realize you were closer to her than you were to me, that’s all.”

The wall that was Lance pressing forward crumbled a little, softening around the edges. “Mel is my friend. I’m allowed to have friends. Besides, I didn’t tell her. She walked in on me.” 

For the first time since the day they’d met, it was Kira Merriweather, not Keith, who turned ice cold eyes on Lance and said, “And now  _ I _ am walking out. Good luck.”

“Wait, Kira, listen.” Lance grabbed his wrist, his voice rough. “Just, listen, okay?”

Keith glared at his hand. “Let go of me.”

“No. This all started because you’re accusing me of having feelings for Mel, so the least you could do is listen.”

Chest tight, free hand clenched so hard it was shaking, Keith took a moment to breathe. They were harsh, angry breaths through his nose that did little to calm him down, despite his brain whispering  _ Perseus, Leo, Cygnus, Hydra _ .

“...Fine. Two minutes.”

Lance didn’t even wait, he just launched straight into it. “You’re my friend, Kira. You were the first friend I made here and I don’t want that to end because you’re jealous of something that doesn’t exist.” He must have seen the way Keith opened his mouth to protest, because he held up a hand to silence him. “I’m not done. It was a couple weeks after I started that I got the idea to do this. That first day I tried to pull this off, Mel walked in on me and instead of ratting me out, she started helping.”

Keith flexed his hand, twisting it in Lance’s grip, but he didn’t interrupt.

“This, what we’re doing here, it has nothing to do with the way I feel about either of you. I like hanging out with Mel - and by the way, you’re all she talks about. Thinks you’re really cool. She’s half the reason I even gave you a chance.”

“Grand,” Keith said dryly. Melanie’s opinion of him, positive or not, was not something he particularly gave a rat’s ass about in that moment. “So then why  _ are  _ we here? Is it really worth all the trouble we could get in to hand over a couple of markers and some tampons?”

“I think it is.” Lance let go of his wrist and stepped back, crossing his arms. 

“Then there’s got to be a better way. I mean - shit, I’m the student council president, Lance. My name is on the fucking school. If we get caught, we could be expelled and who the fuck knows what my mom would do!”

“Do you really believe that?”

Keith scowled and mirrored Lance, arms over his chest all tight and defensive. “Believe what?”

“Do you really believe that you, the darling of the school, with your name on the front of the building and your mother as the head-whatever, that  _ you  _ would end up with the blame if we were caught? Think about it for a second.” 

He did.

Keith took a minute to think about it, and the reality sank into his shoulders like winter rain - cold and hard and unavoidable. 

The truth was that he could probably spin something credible enough that he wouldn’t be questioned, and barring that, his mother would simply pull some strings and guide the media where she wanted them. 

When the dust settled, Keith would probably be just fine.

He couldn’t say the same for Melanie, and definitely couldn’t say the same for Lance

“I...don’t know.” Keith trailed off. The anger was trickling away, leaving him exhausted and shaky.

For the first time, the gap between them was unmistakable. It yawned like a chasm in the few feet of space separating them in the hallway, wide and untraversable as the distance between suns.

They were too different; they’d never understand each other.

Lance sighed, and leaned against the prickly wall like it was nothing. “Listen. There’s a lot of people looking out for you, a lot of friends waiting for you to accept them if you just opened your eyes. Us, at this school? We don’t have that. Fuck, there’s a leak in the boy’s bathroom that hasn’t been fixed since I started here.” His shoe scuffed against the tile, squeaking. “I think it's really cool of you to help us. Them. Whatever. But we don’t need people like you telling us we - how did you phrase it? - ‘ _ need your money more than you do.’  _ We don’t need your pity.” 

Oh.

He had said that, hadn’t he? Right to Lance’s face in an effort to be generous. 

Keith didn’t know what else to do, so he just nodded and looked at the floor. Not once, in all of the scenarios he’d gone over since their chilly parting at the mall, had he ever considered the real problem to be money - or lack thereof. It was such a nonissue that it hadn’t even occurred to him how humiliating that must have been from Lance’s perspective.

He glanced around at the yellowed floor, the cracked walls, the water stains in the ceiling. He’d thought it looked like a prison, and he was correct. But this was also Lance’s school, Lance’s reality. 

And Keith was a douchebag.

“I didn’t mean to,” Keith said, raspy and thin around the edges. “I just wanted...actually, nevermind. It doesn’t matter anymore. This is just...new to me.”

“Fuck,  _ you’re  _ new to me. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t keep up with you,” Lance said, voice as small as Keith felt.

“...I’m not trying to run away.”

“Feels like you are.” 

“I don’t want to.”

Lance held out his hand, spanning across the chasm and the galaxies between them. “Then don’t.”

Tentatively, Keith reached out and met him halfway, resting his palm on Lance’s.

They stood there for so long that Keith itched to pull away and run down the hall. But then, Lance’s hand closed over his and he was tugged into a solid chest. Lance wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him hard.

“Then don’t, okay?” The words were wet and cracked against Keith’s hair.

Instantly, the stinging Keith had been fighting against gathered in the corners of his eyes and threatened to spill. He clamped down hard on the impulse and funneled it into holding Lance with a sudden and hungry ferocity. 

His hands fisted in Lance’s shirt and he buried his face into the fabric, pressing against him so hard they practically fused. It squished his nose and made it hard to breathe, but Keith wasn’t budging for the world. 

Fuck chasms. Fuck galaxies.

He couldn’t erase them, but he could ignore them. They didn’t have to control him.

“I won’t,” he promised against the heat of Lance’s neck. “If you won’t.”

Lance shook his head and held on impossibly tighter.

-🍋-

**Co-Pilot (4:36 pm):** Got a sec?

  * (4:41 pm): Yes. What do you need 



**Incoming call from Co-Pilot**

The first two times his phone buzzed, Keith figured Lance was just texting in rapid succession. The fact that it was a phone call made him swallow with sudden, unexplained nervousness. They hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk since their little heist, and if Keith was being honest, it was mostly his fault. Things felt... _ better  _ after their confrontation and subsequent hasty makeup in the hallway, but not _ great.  _

Keith hadn’t known what else to do, so he did what he did best: pushed everything down until it couldn’t hurt and avoided Lance to avoid thinking about it.

Clearly that was not how Lance coped. 

He swiped his phone open and tried to clear the cotton from his mouth.. “Um...hi?”

“Hey.” There was rustling on the other end before Lance said, “I wanted to talk to you.”

Keith couldn’t resist the dry, “Thus the phone call, yes.”

“Yeah, basically.” 

There was a moment of silence before Keith prompted, “So…?”

“I missed you at lunch.”

“...Oh,” Keith said, then tacked on an awkward, “Sorry.”

A deep breath. “Look, Kira, I’ve been thinking about what happened. I’m still -  _ ugh _ . Why did I think this would be easier on the phone. I don’t really know where we stand.” 

Keith blinked at his wall. An afterimage of his computer screen was burned into his retinas, so he pushed back from the desk and went to his bed to close his eyes for a while. That was something of a mistake, because it made the phone call feel a lot more intimate all of a sudden. 

He sighed. “I don’t either. This is kind of a first for me.”

Lance shuffled again and it sounded like he was laying down. “Do we have to fix it though? Can’t we just go back to the way it was?”

“I…” Keith swallowed and turned his head into his pillow, crushing the phone against his face. “I guess. I’m...ugh, I don’t know. Scared, I think. I’m afraid of fucking up that badly again.”

_ There _ . Now that it was out there, he knew it was completely true. 

“Then that makes two of us.” Lance’s laugh blew distorted across his mic. “So even playing ground, then.”

“What?” Keith’s brow wrinkled. “Why the hell would you be scared of me?”

Lance’s laugh this time was bright and airy. “I guess you’ve never met you. The way you wrestled me down at Anderson.” He whistled low. “Damn.”

“Oh, I - right. Sorry about that. I guess I do have a little bit of a temper.”

“Only a bit. But I was an ass so I deserved it.”

Keith was quiet, playing with the fringe on one of his stupid throw pillows as he gathered his courage. “We’ve both said hurtful things. So. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Star Captain. Think I can still be your co-pilot?”

His eyes squeezed shut in a rush of something that was half-happiness, half-hurt. In all honesty, it had not felt good to see Lance texting him under that name - like the name itself was a reminder that, for a moment, he’d entertained the idea that Lance had just been pretending to like him the whole time they were together. That they’d never really been friends, and it was all some kind of publicity stunt to get close to Keith for the purposes of their pipeline protest. 

Or...or something. 

Very firmly and the most serious Keith had ever heard him, Lance said, “I’d never do that. If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have called you.”

Keith’s eyes shot open in horror. “Oh, fuck. Did I say all that out loud?!”

“You must think I’m some kinda high school super spy to pull that off. But yeah, you’ve been talking for a while.”

The groan that pulled from his throat was long and mortified, muffled on the tail end as he stuffed his face in his pillow. “Oh my god, just fucking end me.”

“I have a better idea.”

“Like what? Community service? I’ll pass.”

“Nah, I was thinking you could come over.”

Either there was a three-car pile up outside, or that was Keith’s brain crashing to a halt. 

“...I’m sorry, what?”

“My mom has an overnight shift. You could come over, play Overwatch, spend the night. I have pizza money.”

_ Holy shit.  _

Lance wanted him over. 

While his mom was gone.

To play video games, or...Keith frowned. Or to ‘ _ play video games? _ ’ Or were they even anywhere near that, if they were just patching up a friendship? How the hell did Lance feel about him? What were you even supposed to pack for a sleepover? Fuck, this shit was so  _ complicated _ . 

But his own mother wasn’t home and it wasn’t as if Blaytz or Celia had instructions to keep him captive or anything. 

And god, Keith just really,  _ really  _ missed Lance.

“...Okay.”

“Really? Yeah?” Lance’s excitement pulled each word up higher. “Right now?”

Keith felt himself grinning in reply. “Right now.”

“I’ll text you my address. Pizza okay?”

“Yeah it’s fine, I - wait.” A thought occurred to him and Keith cast a glance to his desk, where his French book lay open next to a wrinkly packet of taco sauce. 

_ I’m up for it if you are. _

“...How do you feel about Taco Bell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to the beautiful art from [eekzley](https://twitter.com/eekzley) and [Pretzellus](https://www.instagram.com/pretzellus/?hl=en)
> 
> Autumn: So if you didn’t know, our writing process is literally going back and forth where Sail writes Lance and tags me in, then I respond as Keith and tag Sail. It more or less happens in real time. 
> 
> So imagine how whipsmacked and then FUCKING FURIOUS I was when I read that line.
> 
> Golden. 
> 
> Sail: I'm expecting to get a lot of reactions to /that line/ from Lance, *hands you a blanket* there there  
> reminder that all tears feed my whumpicorn that whispers angst into my ears so that i can break hearts, if you'd like to donate your tears to feed them, comment below
> 
> We hang out on twitter now and then and write little threads [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> We're making a Mothman Lance Zine: Lamplight with art from Pretz, [check it out here ](https://twitter.com/LamplightZine)
> 
> Early access to fics as well as some other nifty links on our [LinkTree](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)


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